:o 


x  JBIfe^ i  %Wi4f &*#?&* ^rfe^.s<  .  v  ^ 


mfj 


2^L 


7/1 


THE  STREAM  OF 
PLEASVRE 

being  a  month 

OSThE 


THAMES 


OfiEPHeBEUBINBB 

PENNH  J , 


The  STREAM  of  PLEA- 

SVRE.  A  NARRATIVE 
OF  A  JOVRNEY  ON  THE 
THAMES  FROM  OXFORD 
TO  LONDON.  By  JOSEPH 
and  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 
PEN  NELL  together  with  a 
Practical  Chapter  by  J.  G.  Legge 

New  York  :   MACMILLAN  &  CO. 
1891. 


COPYRIGHT  BY  JOSEPH   PENNELL,    1891. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE    STREAM    OF    PLEASURE. 


1. 

IT  was  pouring  in  torrents,  on  the  morning  of  the  1st 
of  August,  when  we  drove  from  "  The  Mitre  "  down 
to  Salter's  boat-house  at  the  appointed  hour.  Our 
boat,  which  was  brand  new  and  had  not  yet  been  launched, 
was  not  ready,  and  Salter's  men  seemed  surprised  to  see  us. 
This  showed  that  the  weather  was  even  worse  than  we 
thought  it,  and  the  outlook  more  hopeless.  And  yet,  during 
the  couple  of  hours  we  waited  on  the  rain-soaked  raft,  two 
or  three  other  pleasure  parties  started  out  in  open  boats. 
The  girls  in  the  stern,  wrapped  in  mackintoshes  and 
huddled  under  umbrellas,  and  the  men  at  the  sculls,  their 


8^2 


6  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

soaked  flannels  clinging  to  them,  looked  so  miserably  wet 
that  we  felt  for  the  first  time  how  very  superior  our  boat  was. 

It  was  only  a  pair-oared  skiff,  shorter  and  broader  than 
those  generally  seen  on  the  Thames — "a  family  boat," 
an  old  river  man  called  it  with  contempt ;  but  then  it  had 
a  green  waterproof  canvas  cover  which  stretched  over 
three  iron  hoops  and  converted  it  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses into  a  small,  a  very  small,  house-boat.  By  a 
complicated  arrangement  of  strings  the  canvas  could  be 
so  rolled  up  and  fastened  on  top  as — theoretically — not  to 
interfere  with  our  view  of  the  river  banks  on  bright  days  ; 
or  it  could  be  let  down  to  cover  the  entire  boat  from 
stern  to  bow— an  umbrella  by  day,  a  hotel  by  night. 

Under  it  we  could  camp  out  without  the  bother  of 
pitching  a  tent.  We  had  already  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  beautiful  nights  upon  the  river,  when  we  should 
go  to  bed  with  the  swans  and  rise  up  with  the  larks,  and 
cook  our  breakfast  under  the  willows,  and  wash  our 
dishes  and  ourselves  in  quiet  clear  pools.  What  if  river 
inns  were  as  extortionate  and  crowded  as  they  are  said 
to  be  ?  we  should  have  our  own  hotel  with  us  wherever 
we  went.  In  the  midst  of  a  weak  and  damp  hurrah 
from   one  ancient   boatman,  and   under   a  heavy  baptism 


t>Pn 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  9 

not  of  champagne,  but  of  rain,  the  Rover  was  at  last 
pushed  off  her  trestles  and  with  one  vigorous  shove  sent 
clean  across  the  Thames  to  the  raft  where  we  stood 
under  umbrellas,  while  Salter's  men  at  once  began  to  load 
her  with  kitchen  and  bedroom  furniture.  They  provided 
us  with  an  ingenious  stove  with  kettles  and  frying-pans 
fitting  into  each  other  like  the  pieces  of  a  Chinese  puzzle, 
a  lantern,  cups  and  saucers  and  plates,  knives  and  forks 
and  spoons,  a  can  of  alcohol,  and,  for  crowning  comfort, 
a  mattress  large  enough  for  a  double  bedstead.  It  filled 
the  boat  from  stern  to  bow,  covering  the  seats,  burying 
the  sculls  and  boat  hooks,  bulging  out  through  and  over 
the  rowlocks.  It  was  clear  if  it  went  we  must  stay,  and 
so  we  said,  as  if  we  rather  liked  the  prospect  of  roughing 
it,  that  we  could  manage  just  as  well  and  be  just  as  com- 
fortable if  we  slept  on  our  rugs  ;  for  we  carried  all  the 
Roman  blankets  and  steamer  rugs  we  possessed,  together 
with  a  lot  of  less  decorative  blankets  borrowed  from  our 
landlady  in  London,  and  the  bundle  they  made  took  up 
the  place  of  two  .people  in  the  boat  The  locker  was 
stored  with  our  supply  of  sardines,  jam,  chocolate,  tea, 
sugar,  biscuits,  towels,  and  tea-cloths.  Our  bags  were 
stowed  away  with  the  kitchen  things.  And  then  at  last 
we  crawled  into  the  long  green  tunnel. 


io  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

Some  one  gave  us  a  push.  If  Salter  was  looking  on 
from  his  window,  he  probably  regretted  his  bargain  and 
wished  he  had  given  us  the  shabbiest  old  up-river  tub 
in  his  collection.  For  in  mid-stream  the  aggressively 
new  Rover  came  to  a  dead  stop,  and  swung  round  with 

the  wind.     I  had  never  steered,  J had  scarcely  ever 

rowed  a  boat,  and  between  us  we  had  not  the  least  idea 
how  to  manage  it.  We  thought  there  was  a  laugh  on 
shore,  but  we  could  not  see  the  men  who  were  watching 
us,  as  the  canvas  shut  us  in  on  all  sides  leaving  but  small 
loop  holes  at  bow  and  stern ;  we  were  sure  we  heard 
some  one  saying  : 

"  If  you're  going  down  the  Thames  in  that  boat,  you'd 
better  use  the  right  sculls !  " 

Luckily  the  river  was  almost  deserted  ;  even  the  ferry 
punt  had  stopped  its  journeys  to  and  fro,  and  there  was 
only  one  small  racing  boat  coming  up  against  the  current. 
Tom  Brown  says  there  is  space  for  three  boats  to  pass 
just  here.  But  it  seemed  to  me  there  was  not  too  much 
room  for  one,  and  to  give  the  racing  man  a  wide  berth,  I 
sent  our  boat  up  the  Cherwell,  where,  through  the  small 
loop-hole  at  the  bow,  I  had  one  charming  glimpse  of 
Magdalen  tower  over  the  meadows.     I  do  not  know  ex- 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  1 1 

actly  how  we  got  back  to  the  other  side  of  the  river,  but 
when  we  found  ourselves  close  to  the  shores  in  front  of  the 
yellow  Isis  Inn,  we  made  believe  we  had  come  there  on 

purpose,  and  J in  a  business-like  way  put  back  the 

canvas  a  little,  and  got  out  his  sketch  block.  From  here 
we  could  again  see — I  could  just  manage  it  by  lying 
down  full  length  and  peeping  out  of  the  opening  at  the 
stern — the  far-famed  tower,  beautiful  even  in  the  greyness. 


Safe  under  our  shelter,  we  could  enjoy  all  the  beauty  of 
the  grey  day — the  richness  of-4he  masses  of  wet  foliage, 
the  softness  of  the  distant  trees  and  fields  under  their 
veil  of  rain,  the  swaying  of  the  tall  poplars  in  the  wind  ; 
while  the  patter  patter  of  the  rain  on  our  canvas  roof 
made  an  accompaniment  to  the  low  roar  of  the  near 
lasher  and  the  rippling  of  the  water  against  the  boat. 
I  should  have  been  willing  to  stay  there  for  the  rest  of  the 


12  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

day.  I  was  nervous  about  our  first  lock.  The  river  was 
high  after  long-continued  rains,  and  for  two  people  who 
knew  nothing  about  boats  and  could  not  swim,  the  Thames 
journey  with  such  a  stream  running  was  not  promising. 
Already  we  could  hear  the  noise  of  the  water  tumbling 
over  the  dam.  Then  we  could  see  the  strong  current  of 
the  mill  race  sweeping  in  a  swift-rushing  funnel,  ready  to 
carry  us  with  it.  It  looked  dangerous,  and  indeed  it  is, 
if  you  get  caught  in  it.  Only  the  day  before,  a  poor 
little  boy  had  been  drowned  here.  Now,  we  were  glad 
to  find  the  lock  gates  open,  so  that  there  was  no  occasion 

to  hang  on  to  the  muddy  banks.     J put  his  sculls  in 

deep,  giving  strong  but  uncertain  digs,  and  pulled  them 
out  with  a  jerk,  mindful  of  Mr.  Bouncer's  counsel : 
I  cannot  call  his  frantic  efforts  of  those  first  days 
sculling.  But  the  lock-keeper,  as  in  the  time  of  Tom 
Brown,  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  He  came  out, 
smoking  his  pipe  with  enviable  indifference,  seized  our 
bow  with  his  long  boat-hook,  and  pulled  us  into  the 
lock.  The  great  upper  gates  were  slowly  closed,  he 
opened  the  lower  sluices,  and  the  water  began  to  fall.  At 
this  point,  we  had  been  warned,  comes  one  of  the  dangers 
of  the  river  journey.     For  if  you  lose  control  of  your  boat, 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


'3 


it  drifts  across  the  lock,  as  happened  to  Tom  Brown  on  his 
memorable  first  row  on  the  river.  And  even  if  you  keep 
it  close  to  the  side  of  the  lock,  if  bow  or  stern  catch  on 
the  slippery  beams  or  posts  found  in  some  locks,  especially 
in  old  ones,  the  water,  rising  or  falling,  turns  you  over  at 
once.  In  fact,  it  is  remarkably  easy  to  upset  in  a  lock, 
and  as  difficult  to  get  out  again. 
But  then  there  is  absolutely  no 
necessity  to  upset,  and  that  we 
were  not  drowned  shows  that 
with  ordinary  common  sense  and 
a  little  bit  of  prudence  all  danger 
can  be  avoided. 

While  the  water  ran  out,  the 
lock-keeper  came  and  gave  us 
that  curious  literary  production,  a 
Thames  Lock  Ticket.     It  admits 

you  "through,  by,  or  over  the  lock  or  weir"  for  threepence. 
That  is,  I  suppose,  you  can  go  through  the  lock  in  Christian 
fashion,  drown  under  the  weir,  push  and  pull  over  the  roller 
if  there  is  one,  or  drag  your  boat  round  by  the  shore  ;  but 
whether  you  come  out  dead  or  alive,  for  any  of  these  privi- 
leges the  Thames  Conservancy  will  have  its  threepence. 


H  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

The  minute  you  get  through  Iffley  Lock,  you  see  to  its 
left  Iffley  Mill.  It  is  only  a  very  old  white-washed, 
brown-roofed  mill,  with  a  few  poplars,  and  water  falling 
white  below  the  weir;  but  the  composition  is  the  loveliest 
you  will  find  between  Oxford  and  London.  Every  one 
knows  it ;  it  has  been  photographed,  and  drawn,  and 
word-painted,  until  it  is  as  associated  with  the  name  of 
Oxford  as  is  Magdalen  Tower  or  Folly  Bridge,  and  there 
is  no  show-place  that  comes  so  honestly  by  its  repu- 
tation. We  were  glad  wre  had  walked  the  day  before  to 
the  little  Norman  church  on  the  hillside,  for  now  it  was 
too  wet  to  take  a  step  on  land.  But  dry  under  our  cover, 
we  spent  two  or  three  hours  drawn  up,  first  among  the 
reeds  by  the  tow  path,  and  then  under  the  willows  of  the 

island  opposite,  while  J worked  and  I  read  "Thyrsis" 

and  "Taunt,"  and  exhausted  our  entire  library.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  lock  were  three  dripping  tents,  half  a 
dozen  wretched  men  sitting  just  inside  their  doors,  and  at 
this  melancholy  sight  we  vowed  that,  unless  every  inn  on 
the  river  was  crowded,  we  would  not  sleep  out  that  night. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  paddled  down  the  quiet  stretch 
between  Iffley  and  Sandford.  At  Rose  Island  a  dreary 
boy  waited  disconsolately  with  his  boat-hook.     Further  on, 


THE  stream  or  PLEASURE.  15 

a  still  drearier  man  in  flannels  and  an  eye-glass  went 
by  in  a  canoe,  skirting  the  shore  safe  out  of  our 
reach.  Nothing  could  be  prettier  than  the  Thames 
about  here,  even  in  the  rain,  and  it  is  as  simple  as 
Daubigny's  Oise.  Trees  in  long  straight  lines  cross  the 
Rat  meadowland,  the  river  winds  lazily  between  low 
reedy  banks,  and  large  families  of  ducks  come  out  for 
a  swim  where  willows  bend  low  into  the  stream.  But 
this  I  really  discovered  the  next 
morning.  While  we  were  working 
our  way  down  to  Sandford,  I  was 

too  much   taken   up  with  J 's 

entreaties  not  to  send  him  over 
the  lasher,  to  think  of  anything 
else.  Remembering  Tom  Brown,  I  did  my  best  to  leave 
all  the  river  between  it  and  our  boat.  We  found  that  a 
lasher,  which  we  had  never  quite  understood,  is  merely  a 
place  above  the  lock  where  the  overflow  of  water  falls  to 
a  lower  level,  but  a  place  not  to  be  trifled  with,  as  the 
monument  at  Sandford  reminds  all  who  need  the  reminder. 
Sandford  itself,  from  the  river,  consists  of  an  old  church, 
a  long,  low,  gabled  inn,  a  big  barn,  a  mill  and  a  lock. 
When  the  delightfully  picturesque  inn   came   out   of  the 

2 


16  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

rain,  we  determined  to  stay  in  it  even  before  we  knew 
how  bright  and  fresh  it  was  inside. 

Our  first  day  out,  we  made  just  three  miles ! 

Into  the  village  we  did  not  go.  For  one  moment,  as 
we  finished  our  tea,  the  sun  showed  itself  as  if  in  promise 

of  better  things.      But  no  sooner  had  J started  off  with 

his  camp  stool,  than  it  went  under  the  clouds  again,  and 
the  rain  fell,  and  the  only  change  was  the  gradual  deepen- 
ing of  the  greyness  into  night. 

The  inn  was  as  deserted  as  the  river.  Never  did  a 
journey  begin  more  uneventfully.  The  rain  had  spoiled 
her  season,  the  landlady  told  us  ;  no  one  had  stayed  with 
her  for  a  month  ;  and  we  wondered  if  we  should  have  to 
pay  to  make  up  for  all  who  had  kept  away. 


% 


<    J 


mi  ^ 


ft  a 


II. 

THE    unexpected    is    always    happening   in    English 
weather.    We    woke   in    the   morning  to   find   the 
sun  shining  in  through  the  little  leaded  windows 
of   our   low-ceilinged  room,  and  with    the   sun  came   the 
boats.     They  kept  passing  through  the  lock  long  before 
we  were  off  for  the  day. 

And  as  for  our  bill,  it  was  so  moderate,  we  made  up 
our  minds  then  and  there  that  camping  out  was  a  mistake. 
Many  of  the  river-side  inns  are  expensive,  it  is  true  ;  you 
could  camp  for  one-third  the  price.  But  then  the  inns 
are  as  comfortable  as  tents  are  uncomfortable,  and  you  do 


20  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

not  have  to  do  your  own  household  work.  It  is  very 
pretty  to  talk  about  washing  dishes  in  quiet  pools,  but 
when  you  come  to  try  it,  it  is  another  matter — a  very 
greasy,  disagreeable  matter  !  Probably  in  a  good  season 
inns  are  so  crowded  that  it  is  an  advantage  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  them.  But  during  that  very  rainy  August, 
comparatively  few  people  were  on  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
Thames,  and  crowded  hotels  never  forced  us  to  sleep  under 
odious  damp  canvas. 

Everything  added  to  the  cheerfulness  of  our  second 
morning  on  the  river.  Getting  through  Sandford  Lock 
seemed  easy  now  our  green  cover  was  reefed  up  by  its 
many  strings.  And  if  afterwards  it  hung  between  the 
hoops  in  tantalizing  folds,  and  made  an  ugly  blot  in  the 
scenery,  it  served  me  as  an  excellent  excuse  for  the 
eccentricities  of  my  steering.  The  shores  that  were  so 
grey  yesterday  were  now  full  of  colour.  Once  the  long 
stretch  of  mud  banks  was  passed,  purple  flowers  fell 
with  the  long  grass,  to  the  very  .river's  edge;,  the  fields 
were  starred  with  white  and  yellow  blossoms  ;  clumps  of 
forget-me-nots  were  half  hidden  in  the  reeds,  and  water 
lilies  floated  by.  Every  tree  had  a  sort  of  glory  round 
it,  and  seemed  cut  out  of  the  landscape,  and  yet  all  was 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


21 


suffused  with    that   soft   shrouding  mist  you  see  nowhere 
but  in  England. 

I   hardly  know  how  long  it  took  us  to  get  to  Nune- 
ham.     The  whole  morning  we   loafed  by  the  bank  while 


great  barges,  with  gaudily  painted  sterns,  were  trailed  by 
slow  horses  against  the  current,  and  men  for  pleasure 
towed  their  skiffs,  lifting  the  rope  high  above  our  green 
top;  the  sailing  boats  hurried  before  the  wind,  and  camp- 
ing  parties,  with    tents   piled    high    in    the    stern,   sculled 


22  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

swiftly  past.  As  we  drifted  on,,  the  flat  pastures  gave 
way  to  woods,  and  by  and  by  we  came  to  Nuneham, 
the  place  of  the  Harcourts,  better  known  the  world 
over  as  the  picnicing  ground  for  Oxford  parties  during 
Commemoration  Week.  There  is  a  very  ugly  house 
which  fortunately  only  shows  for  a  minute,  and  a  beautiful 
wooded  hill  which  grows  on  you  as  you  wind  with  the 
river  towards  it,  and  get  nearer  and  nearer,  until  you 
reach  the  pretty  cottages  at  its  foot.  It  happened  to  be 
Thursday,  visitors'  day,  and  pink  dresses  and  white 
flannels  filled  the  woods  with  colour.  We  moored  our 
boat  to  the  banks  opposite  the  little  cottages  where  a 
peacock  was  standing  in  one  of  the  windows,  his  tail 
spread  out  to  best  advantage  against  the  thatch,  and  when 
two  swans  floated  up  and  grouped  themselves  at  our 
side  for  the  benefit  of  a  photographer  setting  up  his 
camera  by  our  boat,  we  felt  very  much  as  if  we  were  a 
picture  in  "  Taunt."  A  big  steam-boat,  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  river,  with  a  barge  in  tow,  landed  a 
crowd  of  picnicers  on  the  bridge.  The  Oxford  parties 
object  to  these  common  trespassers  upon  their  preserves  ; 
but  when  men  and  women  on  the  Thames  wear  light 
flannels  and  pretty  dresses    it    makes    little  difference,  so 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  25 

far  as  we  are  concerned,  whether  they  come  from  Oxford 
or  from  the  outer  world  of  common  men.  They  are  just 
as  picturesque  to  look  at.  We  even  watched  with  un- 
disturbed equanimity  the  two  or  three  steam  launches  that 
puffed  by,  rocking  us  on  their  waves,  while  we  did  our 
best  to  bury  or  sink  the  remains  of  our  luncheon.  I  am 
proud  to  say  our  bottles  never  floated,  but  were  sent  to 
the  bottom  for  the  benefit  of  future  archaeologists  and 
antiquaries. 

All  the  afternoon  we  again  drifted  with  the  stream,  or 
lay  for  hours  among  the  reeds  by  the  banks,  watching  the 
boats.  In  the  stillness  we  could  hear  the  splashing  of 
oars,  the  grinding  of  rowlocks  long  before  they  came  in 
sight,  far  voices,  and  even  the  sharpening  of  a  scythe  on 
shore.  And  then  a  shrill  whistle  and  a  train  rushing 
across  the  meadow-land  would  remind  us  that  this  great 
quiet  of  the  Thames  is  within  easy  reach  of  the  roar  of 
London. 

The  afternoon,  however,  ended  in  a  way  that  was  ex- 
citing enough.  Not  long  after  Abingdon  spire  showed 
itself  in  the  flat  landscape,  we  pulled  into  Abingdon  Lock, 
where  there  is  a  fall  of  several  feet.  Beyond  the  lock, 
the   channel    is   narrow   and,  owing  to  the  deep  fall,  the 


26  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

stream  is  swift.  It  carried  us  quickly  on  until,  all  at  once, 
as  we  watched  the  growth  of  the  spire  and  the  lovely 
arrangement  of  the  town  on  the  quaint  old  bridge,  we 
were  startled  by  the  shouts  of  men  on  both  banks.  We 
looked  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  when  crash,  we 
went,  broadside  on,  against  a  stone  wall,  just  here  jutting 
out  into  the  river  and  dividing  it  suddenly  into  two 
rapid  streams,  which  pass  out  of  sight  under  the  low 
arches  of  the  bridge.  It  was  well  our  boat  was  a  broad- 
beamed  family  tub  ;  this  was  the  only  thing  that  saved  us. 
The  men  on  the  banks,  who  had  been  rushing  about  with 
boat-hooks  and  life-preservers,  looked  immensely  sur- 
prised when,  instead  of  diving  into  the  water  after  us,  all 
they  had  to  do  was  to  seize  the  boat  and  hold  on  hard, 
so  as  to  keep  it  from  rebounding  with  the  blow.  It  was 
a  ticklish  business,  and  the  worst  of  it  was  we  had  been 
swept  up  to  the  wrong  pier,  and  had  to  trust  ourselves 
again  to  the  current,  and  come  up  with  another  bang  at 
the  raft  of  the  Nag's  Head  Hotel,  where  the  proprietor 
and  a  boy,  armed  with  boat-hooks,  anxiously  waited  our 
violent  arrival. 

As  there  is  absolutely  nothing  about  this  strong  current 
in    the    many    guide   books    and   maps  and   charts  of   the 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE 


39 


Thames,  we  could  not  have  been  prepared  for  what  is 
unquestionably  one  of  the  few  really  dangerous  places 
on  the  river. 

Even  if  we  had  wished,  we  could  not  have  thought  of 
sleeping  in  our  boat,  when  the  proprietor  of  the  "  Nags 
Head "  seemed  certain  he  had  saved  us  from  a  watery 
grave,  and  literally  dragged  us  into  his  inn.  We  had 
nothing  to  regret.  We  left  the  boat  for  another  very 
old  and  rambling  house,  another  good  little  dinner.  In- 
stead of  being  alone,  as  at  Sandford,  men  in  flannels  were 
in  the  coffee  room,  at  the  bar,  and  in  the  garden.  Every 
time  we  looked  out  on  the  river  from  the  inn  windows 
or  from  the  bridge,  we  saw  a  passing  pleasure  boat. 


*r 


Ill, 


IN  a  fault-finding  mood,  one  might  complain  because 
there  is  too  much  in  Abingdon  to  be  seen  com- 
fortably during  the  course  of  a  journey  down  the 
river.  It  is  the  most  picturesque  little  town  on  the 
Thames,  as  lovely  when  you  look  at  it  from  your  boat, 
with  its  beautiful  spire  rising  above  the  houses,  and  its 
old,  rambling  flower-grown  bridge,  the  red-roofed  "  Nag's 
Head  "  and  garden  in  the  middle  ;  as  when  you  wander 
through  its  gabled  streets,  coming  out  now  upon  the 
market-place  and  its  town  hall  by  Inigo  Jones,  now  upon 
the   ruins    of    the   old   abbey,   survival   of  the   day    when 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


3' 


blood  flowed  in  streams  through  the  streets  of  Abing- 
don, and  when,  darkness  covering  the  land,  a  red  light 
from  a  burning  monastery,  was  seen  from  far  up  and 
down  the  valley  of  the  Thames. 

St.   Helens  Church  is  the  centre  of  the  town's  beauty 
as    of    its    charity.      On    three    sides    the    churchyard    is 


shut  in  by  alms-houses,  less  famous  but  no  less  lovely 
than  those  of  Bray.  I  shall  never  forget  this  little  peace- 
ful corner  as  we  saw  it  early  in  the  morning.  We 
heard  a  bell  ring,  and  then  down  the  old  timbered 
cloister  of  the  oldest  of  the  three  almshouses,  grey-haired, 
gowned  pensioners  tottered  to  prayers  in  their  tiny  hall, 
with  the  oak  panelling  on  the  walls,  and  the  portraits  of 


3^ 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


patrons  and  benefactors  above.  And  while  we  lingered,  we 
watched  them  come  out  again,  gossiping  as  they  came, 
stopping  to  look  at  the  flowers  that  bloomed  around  the 
graves,  and  then  passing  into  the  little  cloistered  rooms, 
or  else  up  the  stairs  and  along  the  balustraded  loggia  of 
the  newer  brick  building.  The  third  is  entirely  distinct 
from  these,  and  of  another  date,  with  a  gable  we  should 
call  colonial,  were  it  at  home,  overlooking  a  little  garden 

which  is  as  full  of  grave- 
stones as  of  flowers.  There 
is  a  larger  garden  at  the 
back  of  the  cloistered  rooms, 
where  little  windows  open 
out  on  a  wilderness  of  cab- 
bages and  peas  and  onions 
and  gooseberry  bushes,  with  here  and  there  a  tall  stalk  of 
lilies  or  cluster  of  roses,  or  else  a  low  pear-tree  laden  with 
fruit.  One  or  two  weedy  paths  lead  through  the  wilder- 
ness, and  we  saw  old  men  in  battered  silk  hats  hobbling 
down  between  their  crops.  Above,  from  the  high-pitched 
roof,  rose  the  row  of  tall  chimneys,  and  over  all  was  the 
sweet  smell  of  many  flowers. 

Narrow    streams,  canals  with  great  deep  locks  opening 


7  HE  STREAM  Of  PLEASURE.  33 

into  wide  basins,  and  the  river  Ock  wander  all  around 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  across  them  little  foot- 
bridges join  the  streets  to  the  country  roads. 

It  was  not  till  very  late  in  the  day  after  our  arrival 
that  we  were  ready  to  leave  Abingdon.  Then  our 
first  care  was  to  stow  away  the  three  hoops  and  the 
green  cover  at  the  bottom  of  our  boat.  Our  next  was 
to  find  out  something  about  the  current  from  the  land- 
lord. He  told  us  there  was  no  use  of  our  attempting  to 
go  down  the  back  way,  and  we  were  nervous  about  again 
passing,  and  this  time  rounding  the  stone  wall.  It  was  in 
anything  but  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  that  we  started,  the 

landlord  looking  after  us  with  evident  uneasiness.     J 

pulled  slowly,  apparently  with  tremendous  effort,  up  above 
the  island,  which  we  cleared  so  successfully  that  we  ran 
into  the  opposite  mud  bank.  Here  we  made  believe,  as 
we  always  did   when    we   landed   unexpectedly,    that   we 

bad  stopped  to  look  at  the  view  and  J to  smoke  a 

pipe.  As  we  pulled  off  again  there  came  a  moment  of 
breathless  suspense,  and  then  the  boat  began  to  gather 
headway.  The  current  here  was  so  strong  that  earlier  in 
the  day  it  had  taken  all  the  available  loafers  of  the  town 
to  pull  a  steam  tug  up-stream  against  it.     Now  it  caught 


34 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


us,  and  the  first  thing  we  knew  we  were  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bridge.  It  was  only  here  at  Abingdon  we  met 
with  even  the  suggestion  of  an  accident,  so  that  in  the 
simple  tale  of  our  voyage  no  one  need  look  for  Haggardian 
descriptions  of  shipwreck. 

After  the  bridge  it   was  easy  going.      By  the   time  we 


%h    ■  -- ...  f-j 

i  ■  & 


"^Vj&Mtoi 


had  passed  Culham  Lock  we  began  to  take  heart  again, 
and  actually  braved  the  current  of  a  mill-race  in  order  to 
explore  a  little  back-water.  For  one  of  the  great  charms 
of  the  Thames  is  the  number  of  these  "  sedged  tributaries," 
which  wander  far  from  the  main  stream  through  green 
pastures  and  between  lines  of  willows  and  sweet  flower 
hedges.     Often  their  entrance  is  so  overgrown  with  reeds 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  35 

and  lilies  you  can  scarcely  find  it,  and  the  boats  that  pass 
beyond  are  few  in  number.  Sometimes  the  back-water 
Hows  to  or  from  a  mill,  sometimes  it  is  really  the  main 
river  which  is  left  by  the  boats  for  the  cut  to  the  lock. 
But  the  most  beautiful  are  those  which  seem  to  tire  of 
running  with  the  current,  and  turn  from  it  to  rest  where 
lilies  blow  round  long  islands,  or  where  cattle  graze  in 
quiet  meadows. 

As  we  worked  slowly  in  and  out  of  the  willows,  a  man 
on  shore  glanced  at  us  so  hard,  we  knew  he  must  own 
the  water.  And  sure  enough,  as  soon  as  we  were  within 
hearing,  "This  is  private  water,"  he  yelled. 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  said  J ,  politely,  "we  shall  know 

another  time ! "  When  you  are  master  of  the  situation 
you  can  afford  to  be  polite. 

Of  course  the  man  who  is  proprietor  of  a  river  bank, 
and  fancies  the  water  also  is  his  property,  looks  upon  all 
boating  parties  as  trespassers.  River  travellers  are  apt 
to  look  upon  him  as  a  nuisance,  and  to  tell  him  so,  follow- 
ing the  advice  of  the  well-known  R.  A.  The  wonder  is 
the  entire  Thames  from  London  to  Oxford  is  not  placarded 
Private  ! 

We   landed,  while  the  enemy   still  glared,  and   walked 


36 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


the  short  distance  to  Sutton  Courtney,  for  of  the  beauty 
and  freedom  from  tourists  of  this  little   village  one  great 


river  authority  has  written   much.     We  would  not  advise 
any  one  to  go  out  of  their  way  to  visit  it  ;  its  old  cottages 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


37 


are  in  good  order  for  the  visitor  who  is  supposed  never  to 
come. 

As  the  swift  mill-stream  carried  us  back  to  the  river, 
we  did  our  best  to  bring  down  a  picturesque  old  stone 
bridge,  dashing  up  against  it  in  fine  spirited  style.  But 
our  boat  was  staunch  ;  it  seemed,  these  first  days,  to  know 
it  must  take  care  of  itself  and  of  us  into  the  bargain. 

It  was  near  Clifton  Lock,  we  first  saw  Wittenham 
Clump,  the  hill  with  a  group  of  trees  on  top,  which  is 
after  this,  for  many  miles,  for  ever  cropping  up  in  the 
most  unexpected  places,  now  before  you,  now  behind, 
giving  a  good  idea  of  the  many  windings  of  the  river. 
We  had  come,  too,  into  the  region  of  tall  clipped  elms, 
which  from  here  to  London  are  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
if  familiar,  features  of  the  Thames. 


i\v 


IV. 


THERE  was  no  sleeping  in  the  boat  that  night,  for 
we  had  appointed  a  friend  or  two — the  Publisher 
and  the  Parson — to  meet  us  at  the  thatched 
house,  known  as  the  "  Barley  Mow,"  which  stands  on 
the  high  road  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  from  Clif- 
ton Hampden.  River  men  often  make  it  their  resting- 
place  and  taste  a  cup  of  ale  there,  for  which  liquor,  as 
well  as  for  substantial  lunches  and  teas  and  dinners, 
and  queer  little  bedrooms  hidden  away  under  the  thatch, 
the  house  is  very  remarkable.  For  this  there  is  the 
testimony  of  many  in    the  Visitors'    Book,    among  others 


1  HE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  4« 

of  the  Lazy  Minstrel,  and  if  he  be  not  an  authority  on 
the  Thames,  then  no  man  is.  The  hostess  is  always, 
with  talk  running  fast  as  the  river,  waiting  upon  hungry 
people,  in  the  little  parlour,  where  one  window  looks  out 
on  the  high  road,  and  the  other  on  the  garden,  in  August 
full  of  tall  poppies  run  to  seed,  and  the  walls  are  panelled, 
and  the  ceiling  is  so  low  every  new-comer  knocks  his 
head  against  its  huge  beam. 

We  got  to  Clifton  Hampden  on  Friday  evening  ;  all  day 
long  on  Saturday  there  was  a  constant  going  and  coming. 
We  never  went  out  on  the  road  between  the  inn  and  the 
river  that  we  did  not  meet  a  stream  of  men  in  flannels 
and  bright  blazers  ;  women  in  blue  serges,  gay  blouses  and 
sailor  hats,  on  their  way  to  the  H  Barley  Mow."  We  never 
went  to  the  landing-place  that  we  did  not  see  launches  and 
skiffs  and  punts  (and  once  the  Minnehaha  and  the  Hiawatha, 
two  real  canoes)  either  passing  by  or  pulling  to  the  shore 
where  the  pretty  girl  was  ready  with  her  boat-hook.  It 
was  strange  how  even  the  record-breakers,  at  other  landing- 
places  in  such  a  hurry  to  be  off,  found  time  to  stop  and  help 
her,  or  to  watch  her  as  she  skilfully  punted  her  way  in  and 
out  of  the  great  mass  of  boats,  put  some  under  the  bridge  for 
the  night,  brought  out  others  for  the  crews  about  to  start. 


42  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

Here  all  was  life  and  movement,  while  Clifton  Hampden 
itself,  where  the  thatched  cottages  are  scattered  along  the 
elm-shaded  road,  and  climb  to  the  church  high  above  the 
river,  seemed  to  sleep  peacefully  day  and  night.  Only  the 
schoolhouse,  with  its  large  clock-face  and  loud  bell,  gave 
signs  of  life.  If  you  went  into  the  Post  Office,  where  sour 
balls  and  ink-bottles  were  the  chief  stock-in-trade,  you 
started  a  little  bell  jingling  as  you  opened  the  door  ;  but 

it  was  five  minutes  or  more 
before  the  postmaster  came 
in  from  the  near  fields,  bring- 
ing the  smell  of  hay  with 
him.  Fishermen  slumbered 
on  the  river  banks,  and  there 
was  always  one  punt,  stationed  almost  under  the  shadow  of 
the  little  church,  in  which  on  three  chairs  sat  three  solemn 
men  who  never  stirred,  except  when  one,  still  holding  fast 
to  his  line  with  his  left  hand,  with  his  right  lifted  up  a  great 
brown  jug,  drank  long  and  deep,  and  handed  it  to  the  next, 
and  so  it  passed  to  the  third.  The  sun  shone,  the  rain 
fell,  the  shadows  grew  longer  and  longer  and  the  jug  lighter 
and  lighter,  but  whenever  I  passed,  there  they  still  sat. 
By  evening  so  many  people  had  come  to  the  "  Barley 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  43 

Mow  "  that  a  dozen  or  more  had  to  be  quartered  in  the 
village.  The  Publisher  and  Parson  were  put  in  a  delightful 
little  cottage,  with  roses  clustering  at  its  door.  But  we, 
having  come  first,  were  given  the  best  chamber — the 
Honeymoon  Room,  the  landlady  called  it ;  and  all  that 
afternoon  she  had  kept  showing  it  to  the  boating  parties 
who  had  lunched  or  taken  tea  with  her.  "  The  lady  won't 
mind,"  I  would  hear  her  say  as  she  opened  the  door.  But 
evidently  the  visitors  did,  for  if  I  looked  up  it  was  only  to 
see  tall  figures  in  white  flannel  beating  a  hasty  retreat 
among  the  poppies. 

When  candles  were  lighted  and  pipes  brought  out  in  the 
little  panelled  parlour,  the  profane  Parson  gave  us  the  legend 
of  the  place,  and  thereat  the  Publisher  and  a  wicked 
Barrister  made  unseemly  sport.  For  he  said  that  once 
Ruskin,  as  he  stood  here  by  the  river  with  the  light  of 
sunset  falling  upon  it,  and  watched  the  flaming  and  fading 
of  the  pools  among  the  rushes,  and  the  water  hurrying 
from  under  the  brick  arches,  saw  a  little  boy  run  from  one 
side  of  the  bridge  to  the  other,  and  lean  far  over  the  parapet 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  current  beneath.  Of  what  was  he 
thinking,  this  little  boy  ?  Was  it  of  the  hurry  of  the  water, 
of  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  or  had  this  speed  and  loveli- 


44  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

ness  already  awakened  him  to  higher  and  holier  thoughts  ? 
And  as  Ruskin  wondered,  a  boat  drifted  from  under  the 
arches  into  the  light,  and  the  little  boy,  leaning  still  lower, 
spat  upon  the  oarsmen,  and  dodged  quickly  and  ran  away, 
and  Ruskin  went  home  a  sadder,  if  a  wiser,  man. 

All  the  elm-lined  roads  and  willowed  backwaters  near 
the  "  Barley  Mow "  lead  to  pretty  villages ;  to  Long 
Wittenham,  which  deserves  its  adjective,  with  its  one  street 
straggling  far  on  either  side  its  old  cross  ;  to  Little  Witten- 
ham, as  worthy  of  its  name,  but  a  group  of  tiny  houses  with 
a  no  less  tiny  church  and  lime-scented  churchyard  just  at 
the  foot  of  Wittenham  Clump  ;  and  to  Dorchester,  with  its 
huge  abbey  church,  perhaps  best  worth  a  visit.  But  the 
great  beauty  of  Clifton  Hampden  and  the  neighbouring 
villages  will  not  let  itself  be  told  ;  and  he  will  never  know 
it  who  does  not  feel  the  charm  of  peaceful  country  when  the 
sunset  burns  into  the  water  and  the  elms  are  black  against 
the  glory  of  the  west,  and  little  thatched  cottages  disappear 
into  the  darkness  of  the  foliage — the  charm  of  long  walks 
through  hedged-in  lanes  as  the  red  fades  into  the  gray 
twilight,  and  a  lone  nightingale  sings  from  the  hedge,  and 
far  church  bells  ring  softly  across  the  sleeping  meadows. 

We  devoted  Sunday  to  the  visit  to  Dorchester,  so  as  to 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  47 

explore  the  little  river  Thame,  which  runs  into  the  Thames 
so  modestly  and  quietly,  you  might,  were  you  not  on  the 
look-out,  pass  it  by  unnoticed,  though,  according  to  the 
poets,  it  is  the  bridegroom  who  here  meets  and  weds  the 
fair  Isis  on  her  way  from  the  Cotswolds,  and  thus  joining, 
they  form  the  Thamesis,  and  together  flow  on,  through 
London  town,  into  the  sea.  In  the  quiet  little  village  to 
which  the  Thame  leads  was  once  the  cathedral  church  of 
the  great  kingdom  of  the  West,  already  established  in 
the  days  of  the  Venerable  Bede.  The  church,  rebuilt 
and  altered  and  restored,  still  stands,  bare  but  beautiful, 
and  in  Dorchester  to-day  are  not  enough  people  to  fill 
it,  even  were  it  without  rivals.  But  close  by  is  the  little 
chapel  with  cross  on  top,  the  rector  of  which,  rumour 
has  it, — and  this  is  the  strangest  fact  of  modern  Dor- 
chester— is  the  author  of  the  New  Antigone ,  and  while 
we  were  in  the  town  a  large  detachment  of  the  Salvation 
Army  beat  their  drums  through  the  quiet  streets.  Long 
after  the  boatman,  a  genuine  Cap'en  Cuttle,  had*  pushed 
us  away  with  his  hook,  and  we  were  winding  with  the  Thame 
between  the  pollards,  their  rude  music  came  to  us  over  the 
wide  pasture  land. 

We  turned  homeward  towards  Clifton  Hampden  just  at  the 


48  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

hour  when  kettles  were  boiling  in  every  boat.  On  the  river 
every  one  makes  afternoon  tea,  just  as  every  one  wears 
flannels  ;  and  so,  of  course,  we  felt  we  must  make  it  with  the 
rest.  We  pulled  up  a  little  backwater  and  landed  with  our 
stove  among  the  willows.  The  Publisher  went  to  the  near 
lock  for  water,  the  Parson  filled  the  spirit  lamp.  The 
trouble  was  great  and  the  tea  was  bad,  and  I  mention  the 
incident  solely  because  this  was  the  only  time  during  our 
month  on  the  river  that  the  stove  was  disturbed.  From 
that  time  forward  it  rested  from  its  labours  in  the  box  in 
which  Salter  had  packed  it,  and  for  the  privilege  of  carrying 
it  with  us  we  afterwards  paid  in  our  bill. 


\ 


\H" 


3> 


V. 


WE  left  the  "  Barley  Mow  "  on  Monday  morning 
under  a  grey,  threatening  sky.  But  it  was 
Bank  Holiday,  and  not  even  the  occasional 
showers  could  keep  the  boats  at  home.  Many  went  by 
decked  with  water  lilies  ;  tents  on  shore  were  gay  with 
flags.  Those  river  fiends,  the  steam  launches,  were  out  in 
full  force,  puffing  past  and  tossing  us  on  their  waves,  and 
washing  the  banks  on  either  side.  We  began  to  think  that 
after  all  it  is  rather  aggravating  to  see  the  angler  aroused 
from  contemplation,  the  camper  interrupted  in  his  dish 
washing,  the  idler  disturbed  in  his  drifting,  and  sometimes 


50  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

the  artist  and  his  easel  upset,  all  for  people  who  turn  their 
backs  on  the  beauty  of  the  river  and  play  "  nap  "  and  drink 
beer  or  champagne,  as  they  might  in  the  nearest  public- 
house  or  club  at  home. 

The  great  business  of  the  day  with  everybody,  however, 
was  eating  and  drinking.  The  thin  blue  smoke  of  camp 
fires  rose  above  the  reeds.  In  small  boats  kettles  sang  and 
hampers  were  unpacked.  In  the  launches  the  cloth  was 
never  removed.  And  in  these  narrow  upper  reaches,  we 
could  look  across  the  river  into  camps  and  boats  and  see 
what  every  man  was  eating  for  his  dinner. 

After  Shillingford,  where  the  arches  of  the  bridge 
framed  in  the  river  beyond,  and  its  low  island,  and  the  far 
blue  hills,  and  where,  near  "  The  Swan,"  'Arry  and  'Arriet 
were  romping,  Benson,  a  few  red  roofs  straggling  landward 
from  a  grey,  pinnacled  church  tower,  came  in  sight,  and  to 
Benson  we  walked  for  lunch.  The  village  is  at  its  best  seen 
from  a  distance  ;  its  church  is  restored  into  stupidity  ;  its 
inns,  survivals  of  coaching  days,  are  less  picturesque  than 
their  associations. 

Our  resting-place  for  the  night  was  Wallingford,  a  town 
with  much  history  and  little  to  show  for  it.  When  we 
pulled  ashore  it  was  raining  hard,  and  we  went  at  once  to 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  51 

the  old  gabled  "  George,"  where  we  found  a  German  street 
band  and  a  great  crowd,  and  horses  trotting  through  the 
courtyard,  and  occasionally  trying  to  make  their  way  into 
the  Coffee  Room.  It  was  the  day  of  the  Galloway  Races, 
whatever   they    may  be,   and    local    excitement    ran    high. 


The  band  kept  on  playing  while  we  ate  our  tea  in  com- 
pany with  a  party  of  flannelled  record-breakers  who  were 
in  fine  spirits.  They  blew  their  own  trumpets  almost  as 
loud  as  the  cornets  outside  because  they  had  sculled 
twenty  miles  since  morning.  u  Not  bad  for  a  first  day 
out,  by  Jove,  you  know  !" 


52 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


"  Twenty  miles/'  said  J ,  not  in  the  least  impressed  ; 

"  why,  we  may  have  come  only  eight  by  the  map,  but  it  was 
full  twenty  and  a  half  by  the  Parson's  steering." 

Later,  when  the  landlady  came  in  for  orders,  they  called 
for  beer  for  breakfast,  but  we  asked  for  jam.     "  Jam  by  all 

means,"  said  J ;  "  we're  training  to  make  our  four  miles 

a  day,"  which  was  our  average.  After  this  they  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  us,  but  drank  whisky  and  wrote  letters 
at  one  end  of  the  table,  while  at  the  other  we  studied  the 
visitors'  book,  and  learned  how  many  distinguished  people, 
including  our  polite  critic  Mr.  William  Black,  had  been  at 
the  "  George"  before  us. 


^Csl 


.   ■  V\ 


X 


S         §§§§11  i    ** 


??s 


M 


<  -  ^& 


\\ 


^s.  '-'i 


VI. 


NEXT  morning  the  Parson  and  the  Publisher  took 
an  early  train  for  London,  and  we  were  again  a 
crew  of  two.  It  is  impossible  to  be  the  first 
boat  out  in  the  morning  ;  early  as  we  thought  we  were, 
other  travellers  had  started  before  us.  Already,  while 
we  loaded  our  boat,  campers  were  sculling  swiftly  past 
and  under  the  bridge,  and  punts  were  leisurely  hugging 
the  opposite  shore. 

The  punt  is  to  the  Thames  what  the  gondola  is  to  the 
canals  of  Venice.  But  a  few  years  ago  Mr.  Leslie  regretted 
it  was  not  more  popular  on  the  upper  river.     Now,  wherever 


56  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

you  go,  you  see  the  long  straight  boat  with  its  passengers 
luxuriously  outstretched  on  the  cushions  in  the  stern,  the 
punter  walking  from  the  bow  and  pushing  on  his  long  pole. 
To  enjoy  his  work  he  must  know  not  only  the  eddies  and 
currents  of  the  stream,  but  something  of  the  river  bed  as 
well.  For  this  reason  it  is  not  easy  to  punt  in  unknown 
waters.  Countless  as  were  the  punts  we  saw,  I  do  not 
remember  one  laden  as  if  for  a  trip.  The  heaviest  freight 
was  a  dog,  a  baby,  or  a  lunch-basket.  As  often  as  not  a 
girl  was  poling,  and  I  never  ceased  wondering  how  work, 
that  looked  so  easy,  could  be  as  difficult  to  learn  as  punters 
declare  it.  But  these  are  the  three  situations,  I  am  told, 
which  the  beginner  at  the  pole  must  brave  and  conquer 
before  he  can  hope  for  ease  and  grace  :  first,  that  in  which 
he  abandons  the  pole  and  remains  helpless  in  the  punt ; 
secondly,  that  in  which,  for  reasons  he  will  afterwards 
explain,  he  leaves  the  punt  and  clings  to  the  inextricable 
pole  ;  and  thirdly,  that  of  fearful  suspense  when  he  has  not 
yet  decided  whether  to  cling  to  the  pole  or  the  punt. 

By  the  shores  beyond  Wallingford,  here  and  there  house- 
boats were  moored.  The  typical  Thames  house-boat  is  so 
big  and  clumsy,  with  such  a  retinue  of  smaller  boats,  some- 
times even  with  a  kitchen  attached,  that  it  is  not  so  easily 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEAS V RE.  57 

moved  as  the  big  hotels  we  used  to  see  wandering  on  wheels 
through  the  streets  of  Atlantic  City.  Indeed,  because  of 
the  trouble  of  moving,  it  often  remains  stationary  summer 
after  summer.  One  we  caught  in  the  very  act  of  being 
poled  down  stream  ;  another  we  saw  just  after  it  had 
finished  an  enterprising  journey  ;  the  rest  looked  as  if 
nothing  would  tempt  them  from  their  moorings.  They  do 
not  add  much  picturesqueness  to  the  river.  A  square 
wooden  box  set  on  a  scow  is  not  and  can  not  be  made  a 
thing  of  beauty.  At  Henley  Regatta  when  the  flat  top 
becomes  gay  with  flowers  and  Japanese  umbrellas  and 
prettily  dressed  women,  colour  makes  up  in  a  measure  for 
ugliness  of  form.  But  on  many  house-boats  we  passed  that 
day  from  Wallingford,  buckets  and  brooms  and  life-pre- 
servers were  the  only  visible  ornaments. 

As  if  defiant  in  their  bareness,  they  were  drawn  up  in  the 
least  lovely  corners  of  a  river  on  which  you  must  go  out  of 
your  way  to  escape  loveliness.  One  was  just  by  a  railway 
bridge  in  full  view  of  every  passing  train  ;  others  were  close 
to  shadeless  shores  where  the  afternoon  sun  poured  hot  and 
scorching  on  their  thin  wooden  walls. 

The  inns,  by  the  way,  were  a  pleasant  contrast.  Nothing 
could  be  prettier  than  the  little  Beetle  and  Wedge,  red  and 

4 


58 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


gabled,  with  a  big  landing-place  almost  at  the  front  door  ;  or 
the  Swan  at  Streatley,  with  its  tiny  lawn  where  the  afternoon 
tea-table  was  set,  as  in  every  other  riverside  garden  we  had 
passed  above  and  below  Cleve  Lock. 

It  would  have  been  foolish  indeed  to  put  up  for  the  night 
under  our  canvas  when  in  Streatley  a  whole  cottage  was  at 
our  disposal,  once  we  could  find  it.  We  rang  up  the  post- 
mistress, whose  door  was  shut  while  she  drank  tea  like  the 

rest  of  the  world.  She 
directed  us  to  a  little  brick 
cottage  with  jasmine  over 
the  door  where  lived  a  Mrs. 
Tidbury;  and  Mrs.  Tidbury, 
armed  with  a  key  big  enough 
to  open  all  Streatley,  led 
the  way  almost  to  the  top  of  the  hilly  road,  to  a  cot- 
tage with  deep  thatched  roof  and  a  gable  where  an 
angel,  his  golden  wings  outstretched,  his  hands  folded, 
kept  watch.  Nisi  Dominus  Frustra  was  the  legend,  in 
brass-headed  nails,  on  the  door  which  opened  from  the  front 
garden  into  a  low  room  with  great  rafters  across  the  ceiling, 
and  a  huge  fireplace,  where  every  morning  of  our  stay  we 
saw  our  bacon  broiled  and  our  bread  toasted.     There  were 


ft 


MHr 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


(A 


jugs  and  jars  on  the  carved  mantelshelf;  volumes  of  Balzac 
and  Tourgueneff,  Walt  Whitman  and  George  Eliot,  Carlyle 
and  Thackeray,  on  the  book-shelves;  photographs  from 
Florentine  pictures  on  the  walls  ;  brass  pots  hanging  from 
the  rafters.     A  narrow  flight  of  wooden  steps  led  up  to  a 


* 


bedroom  with  walls  sloping  under  the  thatch.  Mrs.  Tid- 
bury  gave  the  big  key  into  our  keeping  ;  in  the  morning  I 
bought  meat  from  the  butcher  in  Goring,  and  coaxed  a 
cross  old  man  into  selling  me  green  pease  and  berries  from 
his  own  garden.     We  were  at  home,  as  we  were  bidden  to 


62 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


be,  by  the  friend  whose  pleasure  it  is  to  share  with  others 
those  good  things  which  are  his  worldly  portion. 

"  And  Streatley  and  Goring  are  worthy  of  rhyme,"  sings 
the  Lazy  Minstrel,  whose  lays  are  the  Gospel  of  the  River; 
and  of  paint  too,  according  to  Mr.    Leslie.      The  pretty 


■ 


village  streets  and  the  old  bridge  which  joins  them  have 
been  done  to  death  ;  of  Streatley  Mill  we  have  had  our  fill  ; 
Goring  Church,  with  the  deep  red  roof  and  gray  Norman 
tower,  so  beautiful  from  the  river,  is  almost  as  familiar  in 
modern   English  art  as  the  solitary  cavalier  once  was  in 


/- 


'ljLJ\ 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  65 

English  fiction.  The  campers,  who  pitch  their  tents  on  the 
reeded  islands,  are  armed  with  cameras,  and  on  the  decks 
of  house-boats  easels  are  set  up.     But 

11  When  you're  here,  I'm  told  that  you 
Should  mount  the  Hill  and  see  the  view; 
And  gaze  and  wonder,  if  you'd  do 
Its  merits  most  completely." 

It  was  the  hour  of  sunset  when  we  mounted  and  looked 
down  on  the  valley,  spread  out  like  a  map  below,  the  river 
winding  through  it,  a  path  of  light  between  the  open  fields, 
a  cold,  dark  shadow  under  the  wooded  banks.  May  the 
Lazy  Minstrel  another  time  wait  to  smoke  and  weave  his 
lazy  lay  until  he  has  climbed  the  hill,  and  then  he  will 
sing  of  something  besides  "The  Swan"  at  Streatley ! 


*3        *S'^^A]>/S 


>j*»^ 


VII. 


THE  day  we  left  Streatley,  the  hot  August  sun  had 
come  at  last.  It  was  warm  and  close  in  the 
village,  warm  and  fresh  on  the  water.  The 
Golden  Grasshopper,  the  famous  yellow  and  white  house- 
boat of  the  last  Henley  Regatta,  had  just  anchored 
near  "The  Swan,"  and  its  proprietor  was  tacking  up 
awnings  and  renewing  his  flower  frieze,  which  sadly 
needed  the  attention,  but  he  monopolized  the  energy  of 
the  river.  Boats  lay  at  rest  under  the  railway  bridge 
below  Streatley  and  under  the  trees  of  Hart's  Woods. 
In  riverside  gardens  children  practised  what  Mr.  Ashby- 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  67 

Sterry  calls  "  hammockuity."  Anglers  dozed  in  the  sun. 
The  only  living  creature  who  seemed  awake  was  a  vulgar 
little  boy  who,  when  we  passed  a  sheepwash  in  a  pretty 
backwater  and  asked  him  when  the  sheep  were  washed,  told 
us,  M  Why  when  it's  toime,  of  coorse." 

"  O,  Pangbourn  is  pleasant  in  sweet  summer  time," 

with  its  old  wooden  bridge  to  Whitchurch  over  the  river, 
and  the  lock  with  delicate  birches 
on  its  island,  and  the  mill  and  the 
weir  and  the  gables  and  red  roofs 
and  tall  elms.  In  all  Thames  vil- 
lages the  elements  of  picturesque- 
ness  are  the  same ;  in  each  they 
come  together  with  new  beauty. 
We  had  scarce  left  Pangbourn  before  we  passed  Hard- 
wick  House,  red,  gabled,  and  Elizabethan,  and  the  more 
impressive  because,  as  a  rule,  the  big  private  houses  on 
the  Thames  are  ugly.  And  not  far  beyond  was  Maple- 
durham  Mill,  a  fair  rival  to  Iffley,  and  Mapledurham  Lock, 
which  many  people,  beside  Dick  in  Mr.  Morris'  Utopia, 
"  think  a  very  pretty  place  "  ;  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lock  Mapledurham  House,  of  whose  beauty  every  one 


68 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


tells  you.     But  you  cannot  see  it  from   the  river,  and   its 
owner  will  not  let  you  land.      His  shores  are  barricaded  by 


the  sign  "  Private"  ;  there  is  no  inn  in  the  village  ;  he  has 
but  lately  asked  the  courts  to  forbid  fishermen  to  throw  their 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  69 

lines  in  the  Thames,  as  it  Hows,  past  his  estate;  and  the 
only  wonder  is  that  he  has  not  hung  up  a  curtain  in  front  of 
the  beautiful  trees  that  line  his  river  bank. 

There  is  an  inn,  "  The  Roebuck,"  just  a  little  below — a 
new  red  house,  tiled  and  gabled,  standing  on  a  hill  that 
overlooks  the  river.  But,  convenient  though  it  was  to  the 
beauties  of  Mapledurham,  we  did  not  care  to  stop  in  it ;  it 
suggested  certain  hotels  we  know  on  the  Wissahickon  at 
home,  or  on  Coney  Island. 

It  was  about  here,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  that  the 
anglers  awoke.  From  a  punt,  where  a  young  lady  in 
big  hat  and  green  ribbons,  and  a  man  in  a  blue  flannel 
jacket,  sat  side  by  side  under  the  shade  by  Mapledurham 
Ferry,  we  heard  a  jubilant  cry,  "  O  Paul,  already  !  "  And 
Paul  drew  up  his  line  and  a  man  in  a  near  boat  paddled 
up  to  see,  and  on  the  hook  hung  a  fish  no  longer  than  a 
minnow.  And  next,  an  old  man,  in  long  black  alpaca  coat 
and  tall  hat,  wave4  his  hands  towards  us  and  begged  our 
help.  He  had  a  bite,  and  for  half  an  hour  had  been  trying 
to  get  his  fish  out  of  water. 

"  A  whale  !  "  asked  J . 

Cl  No,  a  young  shark,"  answered  another  elderly  man 
dancing  round  the  alpaca  coat  in  excitement. 


7o 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


J with  a  scull  pushed  gently  under  the  line,  and  the 

old  man  pulled  and  pulled  and  pulled,  and  at  last,  up  came 
a  bunch  of  weeds  ! 

From  here  to  Caversham  is  the  stupid  stretch  of  which 
guide  and  other  books  give  fair  warning.  But  at  the  hour 
of  sunset  the  ugliest  country  is  glorified,  and  nowhere  is 
the  river  really  ugly.  The  ''Dictionary  of  the  Thames" 
for  1888  recommended  as  "snug  and  unpretentious"  the 
White  Hart  Inn  on  the  left  bank  by  Caversham  Bridge. 
Accordingly,  to  the  left  bank  we  drew  up,  but  behold !  we 
found  a  large  hotel,  a  steam  launch  bringing  in  its  pas- 
sengers, waiters  in  dress-coats,  a  remarkably  good  supper, 
and  a  very  attentive  Signor  Bona  to  add  the  pleasure  of  an 
Italian  kitchen  to  the  clean  comfort  of  the  English  inn. 


r*. 


m$  :TV':.;.^> 


&'L 


T 


VIII 


HE  town  of  Reading, 

"  'Mong  other  things  so  widely  known 
For  biscuits,  seeds,  and  sauce," 


seldom  has  a  good  word  said  for  it  by  those  who  write  from 
the  river  point  of  view.  And  yet  the  stream  of  the  Thames 
makes  glad  the  city  with  its  railways  and  big  brick  factories 
and  tall  chimneys,  and  it  becomes,  in  its  own  way,  as 
picturesque,  though  not  as  characteristic  of  the  upper 
Thames,  as  the  little  villages  and  the  old  deserted  market 
towns.  It  is  not,  however,  the  ideal  place  for  a  house-boat, 
and   for   this   reason,   I  suppose,  we  found   two   or   three 


72 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


within  hearing  of  the  ever-passing  trains  and  within  sight 
of  the  chimneys  and  the  smoke.  From  them,  canoes  were 
carrying  young  men  and  their  luggage  to  the  convenient 
station  ;  in  the  small  boats  at  their  bows  young  ladies  were 


1&  '  9 


■  H 


ftt$* 


lounging  ;  in  the  sterns  white-capped  maids  were  busy  with 
brooms  and  buckets. 

Even   if  the   much-abused   banks,  where   the  river  the 
11  cleere  Kennet  overtakes,"  were  unattractive,  it  is  not  far 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  75 

to  Holme  Park  and  the  shady  riverside  walk,  known  as 
the  Thames  Parade,  beyond  which  is  Sonning  Lock, 

"  That's  famed 
For  roses  and  for  bees, " 

and  for  the  lock-keeper  who  cared  for  them  until  his  death 
some  three  years  ago,  and  whose  poem  called  "  Summer 
Recreations  "  is  perhaps  the  simplest  description  ever 
written  of  the  journey  from  Oxford  to  Windsor.  Close 
to  the  lock  is  the  village,  "set  on  fair  and  commodious 
ground,"  with  roses  and  sweet  jasmine  growing  over  every 
cottage  door.  It  was  at  the  cheery  "White  Hart"  the 
Lazy  Minstrel  lunched 

"  Off  cuts  of  cold  beef  and  a  prime  Cheddar  cheese 
And  a  tankard  of  bitter  at  Sonning." 

We  too  might  have  had  our  tankard  in  its  pretty  garden, 
but  there  was  no  room  for  us  ;  and  so  we  walked  from  the 
river  through  the  churchyard  to  "  The  Bull,"  low  and 
gabled,  running  round  two  sides  of  a  square,  with  the  third 
shut  in  by  the  churchyard  wall  and  a  row  of  limes.  It 
would  be  a  figure  of  speech,  however,  to  say  we  stayed  at 
"The  Bull,"  where  we  ate  our  meals  and  paid  our  bill. 


76 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


But  our  rooms  were  in  one  of  the  near  cottages  ;  and  as 
for  the  Publisher,  when  he  drove  up  in  a  hansom  from 
Reading  Station,  he  was  given  a  freehold  property  all  to 
himself. 

It  was  chance  that  took  us  to  "  The  Bull."     Now  we 


..HUf 


* 


'     -I       -J^a^fct-A^>L:^cw -.v-1- •■■■:. v^-a     **>**'{*  ■■-JrV       ^r- 


Vs'- 


find  from  Mr.  Black  that  it  was  quite  the  correct  place  to 
go.  For  "  The  White  Hart,"  down  by  the  riverside,  he 
says,  is  beloved  of  cockneys,  but  the  artists  who  know  the 
Thames  swear  by  a  The  Bull." 

We  thought  Sonning  quite  the  prettiest  village  we  had 
come  to,  and   J and   the    Publisher  and   the   Parson 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


77 


thought  the  barmaid  quite  the  nicest.  But,  to  counter- 
balance these  attractions,  the  weather  was  vile.  All 
Sunday  drenching  mist  fell.  Books  are  the  last  things  to 
be  looked  for  in  riverside  inns  ;  boating  men  have  some- 
thing better  to  do  than  to  read.     In  only  one  did  we  find 


t. 


anything  in  the  shape  of  literature  in  the  coffee-room  ;  and 
there,  a  volume  of  Meditations  on  Death  and  Eternity  had 
been  left  for  the  delectation  of  people  very  busy  with  life 
and  the  present.  In  many  of  the  inns  there  was  not  even 
a  newspaper  to  be  had.  If  there  was  one,  as  at  Sonning, 
it  was  sure  to  be  the  Daily  Telegraph,  just  then  full  of  the 


78  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

"  Is  Marriage  a  Failure  ?  "  question.  But  somehow  time 
did  not  hang  very  heavy.  As  we  stood  at  the  door  we 
heard  the  famous  church  bells,  which  a  century  ago  carried 
off  a  two-handled  silver  cup  for  the  "superior  style  in 
which  they  rang  ten  hundred  and  eight  bob-major,"  and 
for  this  we  would  much  sooner  have  the  word  of  the  guide- 
book than  hear  for  ourselves  the  way  really  beautiful  bells 
can  be  misused  in  England.  We  sat  in  the  church  porch 
and  listened  to  the  hymns  of  the  congregation.  We 
walked  to  the  bridge  where  men  and  women  watched  for 
clear  weather,  while  on  the  near  island  campers  pathetically 
huddled  together  under  the  trees.  But  just  in  the  hour 
before  dark,  the  mist  rose  and  the  clouds  rolled  away  to 
give  fair  promise  for  the  morrow. 

A  gale  was  blowing,  but  no  rain  fell  when  we  pulled — 
for  to-day  there  was  no  easy  drifting — to  Wargrave.  The 
poplars  looked  cold  and  bare,  the  willows  showed  all  their 

silver,  and  at  Shiplake   Lock,  as  J and   the  Parson  to 

the  best  of  their  ability  gave  the  familiar  Thames  cry  of 
"  Lock !  Lock  ! "  and  we  waited  for  the  gates  to  open,  the 
wind  swung  our  boat  clear  round,  and  it  took  a  deal  of 
manoeuvring  with  the  boathook  to  bring  the  bow  in  position 
again.     A  young  man  from  a  near  tent  ran  up  to  play  lock- 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


n 


keeper — the  favourite  amusement  of  campers  in  the  in- 
tervals between  eating  and  cooking — and  hardly  had  we 
passed   through    when — a  certain    proof  of  the  beauty  of 


m 


•**/' 


\M.    :-TOF 


Wargrave — we  suddenly  saw   Mr.   Alfred   Parsons  sailing 
home  from  his  work  to  "  The  George  and  Dragon." 

Wargrave  bears  an  air  of  propriety,  as  befits  the  last 
resting-place  of  the  creator  of  M  Sandford  and  Merton." 
Carriages  with    liveried    footmen    roll    by  on    the    village 


8o  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

street,  upon  which  new  Queen  Anne  houses  open  their 
doors.  The  artistic  respectability  of  "  The  George  and 
Dragon  "  is  vouched  for  by  its  painted  sign,  the  not  very 
wonderful  work  of  two  R.A's.  On  each  side  the  inn, 
lawns  slope  down  from  private  houses,  and  boats  lie  moored 
along  the  shore.  And,  as  if  to  show  they  are  not  common 
folk,  the  boating  men  of  Wargrave  go  so  far  as  to  make 
themselves  ugly  and  wear  a  little  soldier  cap  stuck  on  one 
side  of  their  heads. 

But  little  of  the  time  we  gave  to  Wargrave  was  spent  in 
the  village.     We  explored  instead,  the 

u  Loddon  slow,  with  verdant  alders  crowned," 

and  the  many  near  back-waters,  with  that  indifference  to 
the  sign  *4  Private  water "  which  Mr.  Leslie  in  "  Our 
River"  recommends.  Indeed,  no  one  seems  to  heed  it.  I 
have  heard  men  read  aloud  "  Private  water,"  and  add  at 
once,  "  Oh,  that's  all  right.  Come  on!"  In  Patrick 
Stream,  as  the  only  man  who  ever  really  painted  English 
landscape  told  us,  there  are  Corots  at  every  step,  and  what 
more  need  we  say  ?  In  Bolney  back-water  the  trees  meet 
above  your  head,  and  in  the  water  below,  with  here  and 
there  a  glimpse  beyond  the  willows  of  lovely  poplars  and 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


83 


old  farmhouses  and  M  wide  meadows  which  the  sunshine 
fills."  Reeds  and  lilies  and  long  trailing  water  plants  in 
places  choke  the  stream,  so  that  sculls  are  put  away  for  the 
paddle.     May  and.  sweetbrier,  with  the  bloom  all  gone  now 


in  mid-August,  trail  over  the  banks.  Flowering  black- 
berries festoon  the  bridges,  where  you  must  lie  low  as  you 
float  under  the  arch.  The  stillness  is  broken  only  by  the 
plashing  of  your  paddle  and  the  twittering  of  birds  ;  the 
dragon-fly  comes  to  dream  on  the  water,  blue  kingfishers 


&4  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

fly  from  shore  to  shore,  and  the  water-rat  swims  across  the 
track  of  your  boat.  The  solitude  is  seldom  disturbed, 
except  perhaps  by  a  boy  in  a  dinghy,  by  the  one-armed 
ferryman  of  Wargrave  in  a  punt  coaching  a  beginner,  or  by 
a  canoe  silently  stealing  along. 

In  the  quiet  of  the  evening  it  was  pleasant  to  pull  back 
to  "  The  George  and  Dragon  "  in  time  to  see  the  sun  sink, 
a  ball  of  fire,  below  the  wide  stretch  of  golden  meadowland 

ff  opposite,      where      villagers 

played    cricket    after     their 

day's  work. 

^Hc  1531  4^f  ;         From  Wargrave,  past  the 

-^— S^^^^BP^  colony  of  house-boats  within 


easy  distance  of  Shiplake 
Station,  at  the  foot  of  a  shady 
lane,  where,  if  you  land,  a  man  suddenly  appears  and 
claims  a  penny  (for  what  I  hardly  know) ;  past  Bolney 
with  its  ugly  big  house  and  pretty  islands  where  the  swans 
rest  at  noontide  ;  past  the  ferry  where  the  Lazy  Minstrel 
sat  and  sang  "  Hey  down  derry  !  "  until  the  young  lady 
came  to  his  rescue  ;  past  Park  Place  with  its  grotesque 
boat-house,  niched  and  statued  ;  through  Marsh  Lock,  at 
whose  gates  during  Regatta  week  boats  crowd  and  push 


fill-  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


*i 


and  jostle,  just  as  people  do  at  the  pit  doors  of  a  popular 
theatre — 'tis  a  short  three-miles'  journey  to  "  The  Angel" 
at  Henley. 


IX 


HENLEY  seemed  quiet  by  comparison  with  the 
July  day  when  we  came  down  from  London  and 
found  the  river  a  mass  of  boats  and  brilliant 
colours,  and  the  banks  crowded  with  people,  and  Gar- 
gantuan lunches  spread  at  "  The  Lion  "  and  "  The 
Angel  "  and  "  The  Catherine  Wheel."  But  that  was 
during  Regatta  week,  when  Englishmen  masquerade  in 
gay  attire  and  Englishwomen  become  "  symphonies  in  frills 
and  lace,"  and  together  picnic  in  house-boats,  launches, 
rowboats,  canoes,  punts,  dinghies,  and  every  kind  of  boat 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  89 

invented  by  man.      It  is  true  that  now  and  then  the  course 
is  cleared  and  a  race  rowed  : 

"But  if  you  find  a  luncheon  nigh — 
A  mayonnaise,  a  toothsome  pie — 
You'll  soon  forget  about  the  race." 

But  whatever  life  there  was  at  Henley  we  saw  from 
11  The  Angel."  Across  the  way  was  the  "  finely  toned, 
picturesque,  sunshiny  Lion,"  where  Shenstone  wrote  his 
famous  lines,  too  often  quoted  to  be  quoted  again,  and 
where  the  coach  starts  for  Windsor.  The  pretty  bow- 
window  of  our  coffee-room  opened  upon  the  river,  and 
grey  as  were  the  three  days,  we  waited  in  vain  to  see 
Henley  in  sunshine,  pleasure  parties  were  always  starting 
from  the  landing-place,  boats  never  stopped  passing,  swans 
floated  by  in  threes,  while  boys  forever  hung  over  the  open 
balustrade  of  the  old  grey  bridge,  where,  now  and  then,  we 
could  see  the  long  boats  on  Salter's  van  as  it  crept  Oxford- 
ward.  It  is  this  bridge  which  is  adorned  with  the  heads  of 
I  sis  and  Thamesis,  whose  praise  by  Sir  Horace  Walpole 
was  a  piece  of  family  log-rolling  one  hundred  years  or 
more  before  the  expression  was  invented. 

A  strong  wind  was  blowing  and  there  was  quite  a  sea  on 


90  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

when,    late    one    afternoon,    we    pulled    away    from    "  The 


-1/ 


,  *s?rr?§.  ...--'1 **  r^SSt^   4 


Angel,"  under  the .  bridge,  down  the  Regatta  reach,   wide 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  91 

and  desolate  without  its  July  crowds  ;  by  the  island  with  its 
little  classic  temple  and  its  poplars  set  against  a  background 
of  low  hills — the  starting-point  of  the  race  ;  past  many 
houses,  among  others  that  of  Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  an 
improvement  on  the  usual  Thames-side  house;  and  then, 
like  the  u  countless  Thames  toilers,  now  coming,  now 
going,"  we  took  our  pink  ticket  at  Hambledon  Lock, 
where  there  is  a  red  lock-house  covered  with  creepers, 
close  to  a  great  weir,  and  a  mill-stream,  a  white  mill,  and  a 
little  village  full  of  yellow  gables  and  big  deserted  barns, 
with  grass  growing  on  their  old  roofs  and  weeds  choking 
their  neglected  yards. 

We  landed  just  below  the  lock,  determined  to  break  a 
record.  For  I  fancy  never  before  has  any  one  on  the 
Thames  journey  succeeded  in  making  but  nine  miles  in  a 
week  !  We  put  up  at  a  brand-new,  very  ugly,  but  com- 
fortable brick  "  Flower  Pot,"  where  there  was  a  landlord 
who  had  much  to  say  about  art  and  the  Royal  Academy. 
For  Royal  Academicians  often  lunch  with  him,  and  Royal 
Academy  pictures  have  been  painted  under  the  very 
shadow  of  his  house,  as  well  they  might,  for  all  the  near 
country  was  as  pretty  as  the  inn  was  ugly.  Elms,  the 
loveliest  in  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  England,  met 


92 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


overhead  in  the  narrow  lanes,  bordered  the  fields  "with 
poppies  all  on  fire,"  and  shut  in  the  old-fashioned  gardens 
full  of  weary  sunflowers  waiting  to  count  the  steps  of  the 
sun  that   would  not  shine.     Here  and  there  through  the 


elms  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  river,  and  in  the  distance 
the  tower  of  Medmenham  Abbey. 

We  dropped  down  to  the  Abbey  towards  noon  the  next 
day,  just  as  the  first  picnic  party  was  landing  in  the  near 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE,  93 

meadows.  For  this  place,  where  for  centuries  men  worked 
in  silence  and  knew  not  pleasure;  where  later  those  who 
wore  the  brown  robes  obeyed  no  law  but  the  Fay  cc  que 
Voudras  carved  above  their  doorway,  is  now  but  a  popular 
picnicing  ground.  Even  in  its  degeneracy,  however,  it  is 
true  to  its  traditions.  Medmenham  monks,  of  the  Cister- 
cian order  and  of  the  Hell-Fire  Club,  were  alike  in  this  : 
whatsoever  their  hands  found  to  do,  they  did  with  their 
might ;  they  were  no  less  great  in  vice  than  in  virtue. 
And  so  to-day,  those  who  come  there,  picnic  with  all  their 
might,  and  are  great  in  the  lunches  they  spread  upon  the 
grass  and  the  games  of  tennis  they  play  on  the  lawn  of  the 
big  new  hotel,  where  we  saw  a  Gentleman  Gipsy's  van  in 
the  shade  and  a  Gentleman  Waterman's  boat  by  the  shore. 
We,  too,  have  lunched  at  Medmenham.  We  had  been  but 
a  few  weeks  in  England  then,  and  I  remember  how  we 
wondered  at  the  energy  of  the  young  girls  in  fresh  muslins 
who  unpacked  the  hampers,  laid  the  cloth,  and  washed  the 
dishes  ;  and  how  we  thought  nothing  could  be  prettier  than 
the  old  Abbey  turned  into  a  farmhouse,  with  its  cloisters 
and  ivy-grown  ruined  tower.  That  was  four  years  ago, 
and  in  the  interval  we  have  seen  much  of  England's 
loveliness.     Now,  we  were  not  so  much  impressed,  though 

6 


94 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


the  Abbey  makes  a  pleasant  enough  picture,  with  its  grey 
ivied  arches  and  red  roof  and  tall  chimneys,  and  the  beauti- 
ful trees  on  either  side.  Even  the  tower,  if  it  be  but  a 
sham   ruin,  is   effective.     The  Fay  ce  que  Voudras  of  the 


eighteenth-century  Children  of  Light  can  still  be  read  above 
the  old  door,  and  he  who  would  know  how  differently  men 
can  interpret  the  golden  rule  of  the  Monks  of  Thelema  has 
but  to  turn  from  Besant  and  Rices  well-known  novel  to 
the  less  famous  hundred  years'  old  story  of  Chrysal. 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  97 

At  Lady  Place,  but  little  more  than  a  mile  below,  men 
came  tpgether  to  save  their  country  from  the  Stuarts.  But 
in  a  boat  under  a  blue  sky,  drifting  past  hay-scented 
meadows,  sightseeing  loses  its  charm,  and  it  was  a  relief  to 
be  told  by  the  lock-keeper  that  some  of  the  family  were 
now  at  home  and  so  the  gates  of  Lady  Place  were  closed 
against  the  public.  There  was  nothing  to  see  anyway  ; 
just  a  few  tablets  stuck  in  the  walls,  and  a  cellar  where 
a  conspiracy  went  on  once — he  couldn't  exactly  say  just 
when. 

11  O,  Bisham  banks  are  fresh  and  fair";  and  Bisham 
Abbey  stands  where  it  cannot  be  hid  from  the  river, 
and  you  need  not  leave  your  boat  to  see  the  old  grey 
walls  and  gables  or  the  weather-worn  Norman  tower  of 
Bisham  Church,  past  which  Shelley  so  often  drifted  as  he 
dreamed  his  dreams  of  justice.  For  by  Marlow  shores, 
in  Bisham  Woods, 


••Or  where,  with  sound  like  many  voices  sweet, 
Waterfalls  leap  among  wild  islands  green," 


he,  like   Lord   Lovelace  and  the  knights  at   Hurley,   con- 
spired to  set  men  free. 


93  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

Great  Marlow  was  a  disappointment.  Only  the  street 
which  leads  to  the  river,  where  the  ferry  was  of  old, 
shows  a  few  picturesque  gabled  houses.  Gravel  was 
heaped  on  the  shores,  where  the  girls  stand  in  Fred 
Walker's  picture,  and  instead  of  the  ferry-boat,  pleasure 
punts  and  canoes  and  skiffs  lay  beyond.  The  town  was 
poor  in  Shelley's  time.  When  he  was  not  seeking  to 
establish  a  moral  world  governed  by  the  law  of  love, 
Mrs.  Shelley  tells  how  he  was  busy  going  about  from 
cottage  to  cottage,  seeking  to  lessen  the  heart-rending 
evils  of  the  people  among  whom  he  lived,  until  in  the 
end,  he  shared  part  at  least  of  their  misery  ;  a  severe 
attack  of  ophthalmia  was  the  price  he  paid  for  his  charity. 

Now,  Marlow,  to  the  outsider,  looks  fairly  well  to  do. 
It  shares  in  the  prosperity  of  the  river.  Launches  are 
for  ever  bringing  pleasure  parties  to  "  The  Anglers  "  on 
the  river  bank.  As  we  learned  to  our  cost,  that  very  day 
"  The  George  and  Dragon  "  had  provided  lunches  and 
dinners  and  teas  for  "  three  fifties."  One  fifty  was  disport- 
ing itself  upon  the  river  to  the  imminent  danger  of  the 
red-skirted,  white-bodiced  girls  in  canoes  and  the  men  in 
racing  boats.  When  dinner-time  came  we  found  that  not 
only  the  hotel  larder,  but  apparently  the  town  larder  also 
had  been  emptied. 


1 1.  i  ■ 


X. 


IF  you  wake  up  early  enough  in  "  clear  old  Marlow 
town  "  you  will  see  all  the  men  in  flannels  walking 
riverward  you  met  yesterday  in  boats,  each  with  a 
towel  over  his  arm.  They  are  on  their  way  M  to  headers 
take  at  early  dawn."  And  presently,  if  it  be  Sunday 
morning,  after  the  breakfast  hour,  the  procession  reforms 
and  divides,  one  half  in  top  hats  and  conspicuous  prayer 
books,  the  other  still  in  flannels  and  carrying  hampers 
instead  of  towels.  For  Sunday  is  the  river  day  on  the 
stretch  between  Marlow  and  Maidenhead. 

When  we  came  downstairs  in  the  morning,  an  Oxford 


loo  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

friend  had  just  arrived  to  take  a  pair  of  sculls  for  the 
day,  and  it  was  in  fine  style  we  made  our  start.  Dickens 
in  his  "Dictionary  of  the  Thames"  advises  caution  in 
passing  Marlow  Weir.  Though,  as  a  rule,  he  is  as  nervous 
as  "  Taunt "  is  easy-going,  his  nervousness  here  is  not 
without  reason.  The  weir,  less  protected  than  many, 
stretches  to  your  right  as  you  go  towards  Marlow  Lock, 
and  the  angler-haunted  current  by  the  mill  is  on  your 
left  and  you  must  keep  straight  in  the  middle,  or  what 
is  the  result  ?  You  go  over,  as  so  many  have  already 
gone,  and,  once  over,  you  never  come  out  again.  But 
still,  on  the  Thames,  with  moderate  care  there  is  no 
occasion  for  accidents  so  long  as  daylight  lasts,  for  at 
every  weir  is  the  sign  "  Danger ! "  big  enough  to  be 
read  long  before  you  come  to  it.  After  dark,  however, 
even  those  who  know  the  river  best  are  not  safe. 

"  And  Quarry  woods  are  green "  ;  and  at  the  foot  of 
low  hills,  yellowing  with  the  late  harvest,  is  Bourne-End, 
a  group  of  red  roofs  and  a  long  line  of  poplars  ;  and  next 
Cookham  church  tower  comes  in  sight.  Under  its  shadow 
Fred  Walker  lies  buried  near  the  river  he  loved  in  life. 
Within  the  church  a  tablet  is  set  up  in  his  honour  in 
the  west  wall,  and   a   laurel  wreath  hangs   beneath.      But 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


lot 


over  his  ^rave  only  a  grey  stone,  like  those  one  sees  in  all 
English  country  graveyards,  is  erected  to  his  memory,  and 
that  of  his  mother  and  brother. 

At  the  Ferry  Hotel  at  Cookham  we  unpacked  our  boat 


and  ceased  to  be  travellers,  to  become,  with  the  many  on 
the  water,  pleasure-seekers  of  a  day.  Anglers  no  longer 
slept  on  the  banks,  but  were  alert  to  order  us  out  of  their 
way  if  we  drew  too  near.  In  every  house-boat,  in  every 
steam  launch,  was  a  gay  party.     Along  the  beautiful  stretch 


io2  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

between  Marlovv  and  Cookham,  beneath  the  steep  wooded 
slopes  of  Cliefden — where  here  and  there  the  cedars  and 
beeches  leave  a  space  to  show  the  great  house  of  the 
Duke  of  Westminster  rising  far  above,  its  gray  facade  in 
fine  perspective  against  the  sky — up  the  near  back-waters 
winding  between  sedge  and  willow,  one  to  a  mill,  another 
to  a  row  of  eel-butts,  the  name  of  the  smaller  boats  was 

legion.  Among  them  was 
every  possible  kind  of  row- 
boat,  and  there  were  punts, 
some  with  one  some  with  two 
at  the  pole,  dinghies,  sail- 
boats, even  a  gondola  and  two 
sandolas,  and  canoes  with 
single  paddle,  canoes  with 
double  paddles,  and  one  at  least  with  an  entire  family  on 
their  knees  paddling  as  if  from  the  wilds  of  America  or 
Africa.  On  the  Thames  it  seems  as  if  no  man  were  too 
old,  no  child  too  young,  to  take  a  paddle,  a  pole,  or  a  scull. 
In  one  boat  you  find  a  grey-haired  grandfather,  in  the  next 
a  little  girl  in  short  frocks  and  big  sun-bonnet. 

The  locks  were  more  crowded  than  usual,  and  on  their 
banks  men  waited  with  baskets  of  fruit  and  flowers.      In 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEAS  UKE.  103 

one  we  sunk  to  the  bottom  to  the  music  of  the  "  Bfav1 
(  m neral,"  and  the  musicians,  when  there  was  no  escape,  let 
down  the  lock-keepers  boathook  with  a  bag  at  the  end 
for  pennies. 

But  it  was  outside  Boulter's  Lock*  on  the  way  back  to 
Cookham,  that  we  found  the  greatest  crowd.  There  was 
such  a  mass  of  boats  one  might  have  thought  all 

"  The  men  who  haunt  the  waters, 

Broad  of  breast  and  brown  of  hue, 
All  of  Beauty's  youngest  daughters, 
Perched  in  punt  or  crank  canoe," 

were  waiting  to  pass  through  together.  But  presently  the 
lock-keeper  called  out,  M  Keep  back  !  There  are  a  lot  of 
boats  coming  !  "  and  the  lock  gates  slowly  opened  and  out 
they  came,  pell-mell,  pushing,  paddling,  poling,  steaming, 
and  there  was  great  scrambling,  and  bumping,  and  meeting 
of  friends,  and  cries  of  "How  are  you?"  "Come  to 
dinner  at  eight,"  "Look  out  where  you're  going!"  and 
brandishing  of  boathooks,  and  glaring  of  eyes,  and  savage 
shoutings,  and  frantic  handshakings,  and  scrunching  of 
boats,  and  scratching  of  paint,  and  somehow  we  all  made 
our  way  into  the   lock  as  best  we  could,  the  lock-keeper 


lo4  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

helping  the  slower  boats  with  his  long  boathook  and  fitting 
all  in,  until  there  was  not  space  for  one  to  capsize  if  it 
would.  But  indeed  in  a  crowded  lock  if  you  cannot 
manage  your  own  boat  some  one  else  will  manage  it  for 
you  ;  and,  for  that  matter,  when  there  is  no  crowd  you 
meet  men  whose  only  use  of  a  boathook  is  to  dig  it  into 
your  boat  as  you  are  quietly  making  your  way  out.  Both 
banks  were  lined  with  people  looking  on,  for  Boulter's 
Lock  on  Sunday  afternoon  is  one  of  the  sights  of  the 
Thames. 

When  the  upper  gates  opened,  there  was  again  pushing 
and  scrambling,  and  it  was  not  until  we  were  out  of  the 
long  cut  and  under  the  Cliefden  heights  that  we  could  pull 
with  ease.  The  boats  kept  passing  long  after  we  had  got 
back  to  Cookham  and  while  we  lingered  in  the  hotel 
garden.  Almost  the  last  were  the  sandolas  and  the 
gondola,  and  as  we  watched  them,  with  the  white  figures 
of  the  men  at  the  oar  outlined  against  the  pale  sky  and 
bending  in  slow,  rhythmic  motion,  we  understood  why 
these  boats  are  so  much  more  picturesque  than  the  punt, 
the  action  of  the  gondolier  so  much  finer  than  that  of  the 
punter.  The  entire  figure  rises  above  the  boat,  and  there 
is  no  pause  in  the  rhythm  of  the  motion.      In  a  punt  the 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


105 


man  at  the  pole,  except  in  the  upper  reaches  near  Oxford, 
stands  not  above  but  in  the  boat ;  and  fine  as  is  his  action 
when  he  draws  the  pole  from  the  water  and  plunges  it  in 
again,  the  interval  when  he  pushes  on  it  or  walks  with  it  is 


not  so  graceful.  To  know  the  punt  at  its  very  best  you 
should  see  it  in  a  race,  when  the  action  of  the  punter 
is  as  continuous  as  that  of  the  gondolier. 

Gradually  the  launches  began  to  hang  out  their  lights, 


106  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

the  row  of  house-boats  opposite  Cookham  Church  lighted 
their  lamps  and  Japanese  lanterns,  making  a  bright  illu- 
mination in  one  corner,  and  "  when  the  evening  mist 
clothed  the  riverside  with  poetry  as  with  a  veil,"  "  all 
sensible  people  "  turned  their  backs  upon  it  and  went  in 
to  dinner. 

After  Cookham,  there  is  history  enough  to  be  learned 
from  the  guide-book  for  those  who  care  for  it :  scandalous 
as  you  pass  under 

"  Cliefden's  proud  alcove, 
The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury  and  of  love  ;  " 

stirring  about  Maidenhead,  where  the  conspiracy  of  Hurley 

4 

bore  some  of  its  good  fruit ;  mainly  ecclesiastical  at  Bray, 
where  lived  the  famous  Vicar,  Simon  Aleyn,  who  never 
faltered  in  his  faith  unless  the  times  required  it : 

"  Whatsoever  king  shall  reign 
Still  I'll  be  the  Vicar  of  Bray,  sir." 

He  showed  his  good  taste.  The  village  is  as  charming 
when  you  first  see  from  the  river  the  long  lines  of  poplars 
and  the  church  tower  overlooking  a  row  of  eel-butts,  as 
when   you   wander   through  the   streets  to  the   old    brick 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


107 


almshouse  with  the  quaintly  clipped  trees  in  front  and  the 
statue  of  the  founder  over  the  door.  For  the  first  time  in 
our  river  experience  there  was  not  a  room  to  be  had  in  the 
village.  At  least  so  the  landlady  of  "  The  George  "  on  the 
river  bank  told  us,  while  she  struggled  with  her  h's.     She 


advised  us  to  try  at  the  H-h-hind's  H-h-head  in  the  village. 
We  did,  but  with  no  success.  Now  was  the  time  to  unfold 
our  canvas  and  put  up  in  our  own  hotel.  Instead,  we 
dropped  down-stream  in  search  of  an  inn  where  we  should 
not  have  to  make  our  own  beds  and  do  our  own  cooking. 


io8 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


Between  Bray  and  Boveney  Locks  is  the  swiftest  stream 
in  the  river,  and  we  saw  only  one  boat  being  towed,  and 
another  sculled  with  apparently  hard  work  up  past  Monkey 


"WSj^ 


Island,  where  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  painted  monkeys 
which  give  the  island  its  name,  are  said  still  to  climb  the 
walls  of  his  pleasure  house. 

The  river  flowed   in  long  reaches  and  curves  between 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


109 


shores  where  there  was  little  to  note.  But  as  we  passed 
Queen's  Island  we  saw  the  great  grey  mass  of  Windsor 
(tie  gradually  coming  into  view  on  the  horizon.  We  lost 
sight  of  it  when,  with  a  turn  of  the  stream,  we  came  to 
Surly,  where  the  Eton  boys  end  their  famous  4th  of  June, 
and  to  little  Boveney  Church,  shut  in  by  a  square  of  trees 
much  as  a  Normandy  farm  is  enclosed.  Just  before  the 
lock    the   castle   was   again    in    front   of    us,    nearer   now 


and  more  massive.  But  hardly  had  we  seen  it  when  it 
went  behind  the  trees.  Below  the  lock  dozens  of  boats 
and  many  swans  with  them  were  on  the  water  ;  not  the 
crowd  we  had  left  at  Maidenhead,  however.  Men  sculled 
in  stiff  hats  and  shirt-sleeves.  Parties  were  being  pulled 
instead  of  pulling  themselves.  Soldiers,  their  little  caps 
^till  stuck  on  their  heads,  but  their  elegance  taken  off  with 
their  coats,  tumbled  about  in  old  tubs  :  once  in  the  midst 

7 


no  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

of  them  a  crew  of  eight,  spick  amd  span  as  if  for  a  parade 
and  coached  by  an  officer,  passed  in  a  long  racing-boat. 

The  banks,  where  fishermen  sat,  grew  higher  and  more 
commonplace ;  one  or  two  little  back-waters  quietly  joined 
the  main  stream.  A  long  railway  embankment  stretched 
across  the  plain.  The  river  carried  us  under  a  great 
archway,  and  just  before  us,  Windsor  towered,  grand  and 
impressive,  from  its  hill  looking  down  upon  river  and  town. 
The  veil  of  soft  smoke  over  the  roofs  at  its  foot  seemed  to 
lift  it  far  above  them,  a  symbol  of  that  gulf  fixed  between 
royalty  and  the  people. 

Rain  began  to  fall  as  we  drew  up  to  a  hotel  on  the 
Eton  side,  just  opposite  to  where  the  castle  "  stands  on 
tiptoe  to  behold  the  fair  and  goodly  Thames." 

In  the  town  we  could  forget  the  river,  so  seldom  did  we 
see  the  river  uniform,  so  often  did  we  meet  tourists  with 
red  Baedekers.  In  the  hotel  we  could  as  easily  forget  the 
town,  for  here  we  overlooked  the  water  and  the  passing 
boats.  Even  when  it  was  so  dark  that  we  could  no  longer 
see  them,  we  could  hear  the  whistle  of  the  steam  launches, 
the  dipping  in  time  of  many  sculls,  and  the  cries  of  cox- 
swains. 


XL 


THE  morning  we  left,  Windsor  was  brilliant  with 
sunshine.  Keep  well  lo  Ihe  righl  is  painted  in  big 
letters  on  the  upper  side  of  the  bridge.  For  facing 
you  as  you  pass  through  the  middle  arch  is  the  sharp 
point  of  land  familiarly  known  as  the  Cobbler,  which 
separates  the  lock  cut  from  the  main  stream  ;  and  when  the 
river  is  high  the  current  is  strong,  and  many  are  the 
unwary  whose  boats  have  been  dashed  against  the  Cobbler. 
But  he  looked  peaceable  enough,  a  punt  stationed  just 
in  front,  as  we  passed.  And  now,  we  could  face  the 
strongest  current  without  a  doubt. 


u 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


Near  Romney  Lock  the  red  walls  and  grey  chapel 
of  Eton  came  in  sight,  and  when  we  looked  back  it 
was  to  see  a  corner  of  Windsor  Castle  framed  by  the 
trees  that  line  the  narrow  cut.  Beyond  the  lock  were  the 
beautiful  Eton  playing  fields,  where  crowds  meet  on  the 
4th  of  June  ;  and  next  Datchet  and  Datchet  Mead,  where 


FalstafT  was  thrown  for  foul  clothes  into  the  river ;  and 
Windsor  Park,  where  the  sun  went  under  the  clouds  and 
down  came  the  rain  in  torrents.  At  the  first  drop  all 
the  boats  disappeared.  The  minute  before,  a  girl  had 
been  poling  down-stream  at  our  very  side.  I  Now  she 
had  gone  as  mysteriously  as  the  Vanishing  Lady.  We, 
not  understanding  the  trick,  kept  calmly  on  our  way  and 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


i'5 


were  none  the  worse  for  our  wetting.  And  when  the  sun 
shone  again  the  boats  all  reappeared  as  suddenly.  One 
cannot  tell  in  words  how  the  river,  with  the  first  bit  of 
sunshine,  like  the  Venetian  lagoons,  becomes  filled  with 
life. 


At  (  >ld  Windsor  the  weir  seemed  to  us  much  the  most 
dangerous  we  had  come  to,  and  the  lock  by  far  the  most 
dilapidated.  After  we  left  the  lock  we  passed  the  yellow 
bow-windowed  "  Bells  of  Ousely,"  an  inn  famous  I  hardly 
know    for    what,  its  sign  hanging  from  one  of  the  wide- 


u6 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE, 


branching  elms  that  overshadow  it  ;  and  Magna  Charta 
Island,  where  the  barons  claimed  the  rights  which  they 
have  kept  all  to  themselves  ever  since,  and  where  two  or 
three  pleasure  parties  were  picnicing,  and  a  private  house 
stands  on  the  spot  so  sacred  to  English  liberty  ;  opposite, 
those  who  to-day  are  its  defenders  were  playing  at  making 
a  pontoon-bridge,  and  the  field  was  dotted  with  red  coats 
and  white  tents.     Below,  was  Runnymede,  a  broad  meadow 

at  the  foot  of  a  beau- 
tiful hillside,  where 
the  great  fight  was 
fought. 

At  Bell  Weir  Lock 
the  gates  were  closed. 
Too  many  barges 
had  crowded  in  from  the  lower  side,  and  the  last  had 
to  back  out,  an  operation  which  took  much  time  and 
more  talk.  A  boat-load  of  campers  pulled  up  while  we 
waited.  u  Back  water,  Stroke!"  cried  the  man  at  the  bow, 
who  had  a  glass  screwed  in  one  eye.  "  Easy  now !  Bring 
her  in  !  Look  out,  where  you're  going  !  "  And  with  his 
glass  fixed. upon  Stroke,  he  quite  forgot  to  look  out  where 
he  was   going   himself,   and   bang   went   the    bow   into   a 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  117 

post  and  over  he  tumbled  into  a  heap  of  tents  and 
bags  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  When  he  got  up  the 
glass  was  still  there,  as  it  apparently  had  been  for  several 
weeks,  for  we  had  seen  the  party  going  up-stream  when  we 
were  at  Sonning.  They  had  probably  been  to  the  top  of 
the  Thames  and  were  on  their  way  back,  but  they  had  not 
yet  learned  to  manage  a  boat.  When  the  gates  at  last 
opened  Stroke  saw  some  young  ladies  on  shore,  and  at 
once  put  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  his  hands  into  the 
pockets  of  his  blue  and  black  blazer,  and  struck  an  attitude, 
and  Bow  gave  orders  in  vain.  The  boat  swung  from  one 
side  of  the  lock  to  the  other  and  still  he  posed.  How- 
ever, we  had  the  worst  of  it  in  coming  out.  For  in  trying 
to  clear  the  waiting  barge  we  ran  aground  and  stuck 
there  ignominiously,  while  all  the  boats  that  had  been 
behind  us  in  the  lock  went  by.  But  it  was  not  much  work 
to  push  off  again,  and  almost  at  once  we  were  in  Staines, 

The  town  is  thought  to  be  the  rival  of  Reading  in 
ugliness,  an  eyesore  on  the  Thames.  We  minded  this 
but  little,  for  we  spent  the  evening  sitting  at  a  table  in 
the  garden  of  "  The  Pack  Horse,"  watching  the  never- 
ceasing  procession  of  boats — the  punt  with  the  two  small 
boys  come  to  meet  their  father  after  his  day  in  London  ; 


n8  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

the  racing  punts ;  the  long,  black  canoe,  either  the  Minne- 
haha or  the  Hiawatha  (it  was  too  far  away  to  see  its 
name)  ;  the  picnic  parties  coming  home  with  empty 
hampers  ;  the  sail-boats ;  the  ferry  punt,  where  now  and 
then  an  energetic  man  in  flannels  took  the  pole  from  the 
ferryman  and  sent  the  punt  zig-zagging  through  the  water, 
but  somehow,  and  in  the  course  of  time,  always  got  to  the 
other  side.  And  if  an  ugly  railway  bridge  crossed  the 
river  just  here,  we  could  look  under  it  to  the  still  busier 
ferry,  where  the  punt,  crossing  every  minute,  was  so 
crowded  with  gay  dresses  and  flannels  that  one  might  have 
thought  all  Staines  had  been  for  an  outing.  The  sun 
set  behind  the  dense  trees  on  the  opposite  bank,  its  light 
shining  between  their  trunks  and  the  dark  reflections ; 
moonlight  lay  on  the  water,  and  still  we  sat  there.  We 
could  understand  our  landlord  when  he  told  us  that,  though 
he  had  travelled  far  and  wide,  there  was  no  place  he  cared 
for  as  he  did  for  Staines.  Like  his  wife  and  the  pile  of 
trunks  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  had  an  unmistakable 
theatrical  look.  Later  he  went  into  the  bar  and  played 
the  violin,  and  people  gathered  about  the  tables  while  he 
gave  now  a  Czardas,  now  the  last  London  Music  Hall  song. 
The  evening  was  the  liveliest  we  spent  upon  the  river. 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  1 19 

A  fine  Scotch  mist  fell  the  next  morning.  Of  the  first 
part  of  the  days  voyage  there  was  not  much  to  remember 
but  grey  banks,  a  grey  river,  and  an  occasional  fishing-punt 
with  umbrellas  in  a  row.  In  our  depression  we  forgot 
when  we  passed  Laleham  that  the  village  has  become  a 
place  of  pilgrimage.  Matthew  Arnold  lies  buried  in  its 
churchyard,  and  perhaps  he,  who  hated  the  parade  of 
death,  would  rather  have  the  traveller  pass  his  grave 
without  heeding  it  than  stop  to  drop  a  sentimental 
tear. 

At  Chertsey  the  mist  rose  and  our  spirits  with  it.  We 
had  arrived  just  in  time  for  the  Chertsey  Regatta,  and 
when  presently  the  sun  struggled  through  the  clouds,  as  if 
by  magic  the  river  was  crowded  with  boats.  The  races 
were  not  worth  seeing.  The  men  sculled  in  their  vests, 
poled  in  their  suspenders.  Punts  at  the  start  got  so 
hopelessly  entangled  that  spectators  roared  with  laughter. 
But  there  was  an  attempt  to  do  the  thing  as  at  Henley. 
Between  the  races,  canoes  and  punts  and  skiffs  went  up 
and  down  the  racecourse,  and  the  people  in  the  two  house- 
boats received  their  friends  and  tea  was  made.  Among 
the  lookers-on,  at  least,  costumes  were  correct. 

From    the    river,  Chertsey  was  so  pretty  and   gay,  we 


i2o  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

did  not  go  into  the  town,  which   Dickens  says  is  dull  and 
quiet,  even  to  hunt  for  the  humble  nest  where  Cowley 

"  'Scaped  all  the  toils  that  life  molest, 
And  its  superfluous  joys,'' 

or  the  mansion  where  Fox  raised  his  turnips. 

We  neared  Shepperton  Lock  as  the  sun  was  going  down. 
Just  below,  the  long  straggling  village  of  Weybridge  was 
hidden  round  a  corner  of  the  river  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Wey.  Close  by  another  little  stream  and  a  canal  join 
the  Thames,  and  their  waters  meet  in  the  weir  pool,  which 
was  a  broad  sheet  of  light  when  we  first  saw  it.  At  the 
landing-place  of  "  The  Lincoln  Arms  "  lay  the  usual  mass 
of  boats,  but  almost  all  were  marked  with  monograms 
repeated  on  every  scull  and  paddle,  and  on  the  road  above 
carriages  with  liveried  footmen  waited. 

The  little  river  Wey  runs  to  Guildford  and  still  farther 
through  the  fair  county  of  Surrey,  and  on  its  banks,  not  far 
from  Weybridge,  lived  the  rollicking,  frolicking,  jolly  old 
monks  whose  legend  is  said  to  drive  away  sentiment  as 
suddenly  as  a  north  wind  scatters  sea-fog.  But  after  all, 
if  you  turned  from  the  Thames  to  explore  every  stream 
rich  in  story  and  in  beauty,  you  would  never  get  down  to 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASUKI  123 

London.  Besides,  on  the  Wey  there  are  locks  every  hour 
or  less,  and  at  almost  all  you  must  be  your  own  lock-keeper 
and  carry  your  tools  with  you,  and  there  are  those  who  say 
the  pleasure  is  not  worth  the  work. 

From  Weybridge  to  Walton  is  the  neighbourhood 
abounding  with  memories  of  olden  time,  where  Mr.  Leland 
once  went  gypsying.  There  is  first  Shepperton,  with  its 
little  Gothic  church  and  many  anglers,  on  your  left,  and 
then  Halliford,  a  quaint  old  street  facing  the  river,  where 
we  found  the  Shuttlecock 
moored  to  the  landing-place. 
Who  but  the  Lazy  Minstrel 
has  a  right  to  row  or  sail, 
paddle  or  pole  a  Shuttlecock  s 

on  the  waters  of  the  Thames  ?  But  an  impudent  young 
man  we  had  never  seen,  came  down  the  steps,  boarded 
her,  and  paddled  away  as  placidly  as  if  he  had  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of!  And  next  came  Cowie  Stakes,  where 
Caesar  is  said  to  have  crossed  the  Thames,  pulling 
up  ruthlessly  the  stakes  driven  in  by  the  Britons — 
"He  is  the  sort  of  man,"  Mr.  Jerome  says,  "we 
want  round  the  back-waters  now."  And  then  Walton, 
with   its  relics  of  days  when   scolds  were  called  by  their 


124  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

right  name,  when  gallantry  was  the  fashion  and  astrology  a 
profession.  For  if  there  is  a  picture  at  every  turn  of  the 
Thames,  there  is  a  story  as  well ;  and  if  you  are  not 
too  lazy,  you  read  it  in  your  guide-book  and  are  much 
edified  thereby,  but  you  go  no  further  to  prove  it  true. 

The  cut  to  Sunbury  Lock,  with  its  unpollarded  willows 
and  deep  reflections,  was  like  a  bit  of  a  French  canal.  At 
the  lock  there  was  one  of  the  slides  found  only  in  the  most 
crowded  parts  of  the  river.     On  these,  boats  are  pulled  up 

an  inclined  plane  over  rollers, 
and  then  let  down  another 
into  the  water  above  or 
below,  as  the  case  may  be, 
and  this  in  one-fifth  of  the 
time  it  takes  to  go  through  a  lock,  nor  is  there  any  long 
waiting  for  water  to  be  let  out  or  in. 

And  after  Sunbury  came  Hampton,  where  a  large  barge 
with  red  sail  furled  showed  we  were  nearing  London  ;  and 
close  by  Garrick's  Villa  with  its  Temple  of  Shakspere  ;  and 
on  the  opposite  shore  Moulsey  Hurst,  where  the  coster- 
mongers'  races  are  run  in  the  month  when  gorse  is  in 
bloom,  and  where  I  was  first  introduced  by  the  great  Rye 
Leland  to  Mattie  Cooper,  the  old  gipsy,  whose  name  is  an 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  123 

authority  among  scholars.      And   here   the   river   divides 

into  two  streams  to  run  round  islands,  which  stretch  one 
after  another  almost  to  Moulscy,  so  that  as  you  pass  down 
on  cither  side  the  river  seems  no  wider  than  it  was  many 
miles  away  at  Oxford. 

At  Moulscy  Lock  on  Saturday  afternoon  and  on  Sunday 
you  find  everything  that  goes  to  make  a  regatta  hut  the 
races.  It  is  the  headquarters  of  that  carnival  on  the  river 
which  begins  with  June,  is  at  its  height  in  midsummer,  and 
ends  only  with  October.  Not  even  in  the  July  fetes  on 
the  Grand  Canal  in  Venice  is  there  livelier  movement, 
more  graceful  grouping  or  brighter  colour.  There  may 
be  gayer  voices  and  louder  laughter,  for  the  English  take 
their  pleasure  quietly.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  men 
in  their  every-day  amusements  can  show  a  more  beauti- 
ful pageant  anywhere.  The  Venetian  fetes  can  be  seen 
only  once  each  summer.  But  though  for  that  of  the 
Thames  you  must  go  to  Henley  Regatta,  every  week 
Boulter's  or  Moulsey  Lock  makes  a  no  less  brilliant 
picture.  And  as  Mr.  Leland  has  said,  "  It  is  very  strange 
to  see  this  tendency  of  the  age  to  unfold  itself  in  new  festi- 
val forms,  when  those  who  believe  that  there  can  never  be 
any  poetry  or  picturing  in  life  but  in  the  past  are  wailing 
over  the  banishing  of  Maypoles  and  all  English  sports." 


XII 


IT  was  still  early  Saturday  afternoon  when  we  reached 
Moulsey.     At  once  we  unloaded  our  boat  and  secured 
a  room   at  the  Castle  Inn,  close  to   the    bridge   and 
opposite  that 

"  Structure  of  majestic  frame 
Which  from  the  neighbouring  Hampton  takes  its  name." 


The  rest  of  the  day  and  all  the  next  we  gave  to  the  river 
between  Hampton  and  the  Court.  In  the  lock  the  water 
never  rose  nor  fell  without  carrying  with  it  as  many  boats 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


127 


as  could  find  a  place  upon  its  surface.  At  the  slide,  where 
there  are  two  rollers  for  the  boats  going  up  and  two  for 
those  coming  down,  there  were  always  parties  embarking 
and    disembarking,  men    in    flannels  pulling  and   pushing 


canoes  and  skiffs.  Far  along  the  long  cut,  boats  were 
always  waiting  for  the  lock  gates  to  open.  And  on  the 
gates,  and  on  both  banks,  and  above  the  slide,  sat  rows  of 
lookers-on,  as  if  at  a  play  ;  and  the  beautiful  rich  green  of 
the  trees,  the  white  and  coloured  dresses,  the  really  pretty 

8 


128  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

women  and  the  strong,  athletic  men,  casting  gay  reflections 
in  the  water,  made  a  picture  ever  to  be  remembered.  On 
the  road  were  ragged  men  and  boys,  with  ropes  and  horses, 
offering  to  "tow  you  up  to  Sunbury,  Shepperton,  Wey- 
bridge,  Windsor,"  and  still  raggeder  children  chattering 
in  Romany  and  turning  somersaults  for  pennies.  If  we 
pulled  up  to  Hampton  it  was  to  see  the  broad  reach  there 
"overspread  with  shoals  of  labouring  oars,"  or  with  a  fleet 
of  sailing  boats  tacking  from  side  to  side — dangerous,  it 
seemed  to  us,  as  the  much  hated  steam  launches.  Below 
the  weir  were  the  anglers'  punts.  And  up  the  little  Mole, 
which  "  digs  through  earth  the  Thames  to  win,"  the 
luncheon  cloth  was  spread  and  the  tea-kettle  sang  under 
the  willows.  But  however  far  we  went,  when  we  came 
back  to  the  lock,  it  was  only  to  find  the  same  crowd,  to 
hear  the  same  endless  grating  of  boats  over  the  rollers, 
the  same  slow  paddling  out  through  the  gates,  the  same  fall 
of  the  water  over  the  weir,  and  above  all  other  sounds, 
the  monotonous  cries  of  "  Tow  you  up  to  Sunbury,  Shep- 
perton, Weybridge,  Windsor."  All  the  long  Sunday 
afternoon  the  numbers  of  boats  and  people  never  lessened, 
though  the  scene  was  ever  varying.  And  when  the  sun 
sank  below  Moulsey  Hurst,  there  was  still  the  same  crowd 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  131 

in  the  lock,  there  were  still  the  rows  of  figures  sitting  on 
the  banks ;  the  men  and  horses  on  the  road,  the  stray 
cycler  riding  towards  Thames  Ditton — all  now,  however, 
but  so  many  silhouettes  cut  out  against  the  strong  light. 

Close  to  Moulsey  Lock  is  Hampton  Court,  with  its 
park  and  gardens,  its  galleries  and  courts,  its  bad  pictures 
and  fine  tapestries,  its  fountains  and  terraces.  What  good 
American  who  has  been  in  England  does  not  love  this 
most  beautiful  of  English  palaces  ?  But  of  all  those  who 
come  to  it  Sunday  after  Sunday,  there  is  scarcely  one 
who  knows  that  within  a  ten-minutes'  walk  is  another  sight 
no  less  beautiful  in  its  way  -very  different,  but  far  more 
characteristic  of  the  England  of  to-day. 


XIII. 


AT  Moulsey  we  felt  that  our  journey  had  really  come 
to  an  end  ;  but  everybody  who  does  the  Thames  is 
sure  to  go  as  far  as  the  last  lock  at  Teddington, 
and  so  for  Teddington  we  set  out  early  on  Monday  morn- 
ing. There  is  no  very  fine  view  of  Hampton  Court  from 
the  river.  One  little  corner,  crowned  with  many  twisted 
and  fluted  chimney  pots,  rises  almost  from  the  banks,  and 
the  wall  of  the  park  follows  the  towpath  for  a  mile  or 
more.  On  our  left  we  passed  Thames  Ditton,  where,  in 
the  Swan  Inn,  Theodore  Hook,  who  to  an  abler  bard 
singing  of  sweet  Eden's  blissful  bowers  would  "  Ditto  say 


i 

J 


134  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

for  Ditton,"  is  as  often  quoted  as  is  Shenstone  at  "  The 
Lion  "  at  Henley ;  and  Kingston,  with  its  pretty  church 
tower,  where  the  great  coal  barges  of  the  lower  Thames 
lay  by  the  banks,  and  a  back-water  we  explored  degenerated 
into  a  sewer  ;  and  then  we  were  at  Teddington  with  its 
group  of  tall  poplars,  where  there  is  a  large  lock  for 
the  barges  and  steam  tugs,  and  a  smaller  one  and  a  slide 
as  well  for  pleasure  boats,  and  where  the  familiar  smoky 
smell  that  always  lingers  over  the  Thames  at  Westminster 
or  London  Bridge  greeted  us. 

The  tide  was  going  out  or  coming  in — it  was  so  low 
we  hardly  knew  which — and  now  on  each  side  the  river 
were  mud  banks.  But  it  was  still  early,  and  we  decided 
to  pull  down  and  leave  our  boat  at  Richmond.  After 
Teddington  it  was  ho  !  for  Twickenham  Ferry,  and  the 
village  of  eighteenth-century  memories.  From  the  river 
we  saw  the  villa  where  Pope  patched  up  his  constitution 
and  his  grotto,  and  where  to-day  the  Labouchere  family 
patch  together  gossip  and  finance  and  politics  and  call  it 
Truth;  and  the  mansion  where  the  princes  of  the  house 
of  Orleans  lived  in  banishment ;  and  many  other  villas 
and  cheerful  houses  and  terraced  gardens,  with  their 
associations   of    wits   and   courtiers,    on    either    side  —  all 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


OS 


this  very  delightful,  as  Fitzgerald  wrote  in  one  of  his 
letters.  And  in  front  of  us  rose  Richmond  Hill,  where 
Turner  painted  and  many  poets  have  sung,  and  "  The 
Star  and  Garter"  overlooked  the  Thames's  "silver  winding 


way,"  but  not  the  memory  of  the  "lass"  who  inspired  the 
sweetest  of  old  English  songs  or  even  u  to  call  her  mine  " 
on  the  C  in  alt,  delayed  our  steps,  for  we  should  be 
bankrupt  if  we  had  stopped. 


136  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

In  places  the  shores  were  as  pastoral  as  in  the  upper 
narrow  reaches,  but  again  we  came  to  the  mud  banks. 
From  every  landing-place  men  cried,  "  Keep  your  boat, 
sir  ?  " — for  Salter  has  agents  on  the  river  whose  business  it 
is  to  take  care  of  boats  left  by  river  travellers  until  his  van 
calls  to  carry  them  back  to  Oxford.  Everybody  expected 
us  to  stop ;  something  of  that  great  noise  of  London, 
which  has  been  likened  to  the  loom  of  Time,  seemed  to 
reach  us.  We  had  left  the  Stream  of  Pleasure  and  were 
now  on  the  river  that  runs  through  the  world  of  work,  as 
the  big  barges  and  the  steam  tugs  told  us.  At  Richmond 
we  pulled  up  to  shore  for  the  last  time,  and  intrusted  the 
Rover,  with  a  good  deal  of  its  paint  scratched  off  and 
many  honourable  scars  of  long  travel  and  good  service, 
to  the  waiting  boatman,  and  so 

"At  length  they  all  to  mery  London  came." 


A    PRACTICAL   CHAPTER. 


THE  writer  of  this  chapter  is  really  a  modest 
person,  and  in  venturing  to  give  some  prac- 
tical hints  on  boating  on  the  Thames,  he  thinks 
it  just  as  well  to  state  the  fact.  The  chapter  is  not, 
however,  intended  for  the  members  of  any  Thames 
rowing,  sailing,  or  canoe  club,  nor  for  those  sensible 
Cockneys  whose  custom  it  is,  summer  by  summer,  to 
pass  a  few  spare  days  towing  up  or  drifting  down  the 
placid  reaches  of  the  river.  It  is  meant  for  the  visitors 
to  London  whose  knowledge  of  the  Thames  is  limited  to 
glimpses  of  it  at  Westminster  and  Richmond,  or  possibly 


138  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

at  Windsor  and  Oxford  ;  and  for  the  indolent  Londoner, 
who  knows  Hampton  Court,  perhaps,  and  the  Surbiton 
Waterworks,  but  has  never  smoked  a  pipe  on  Streatley 
Bridge  or  in  the  back-water  below  Cookham  Lock.  Its 
object  is  to  show  how  easily  the  beauties  of  which  this 
book  has  treated  may  be  seen  by  any  one  who  has  energy 
enough  to  catch  a  fairly  early  train.  The  Thames  is  not 
the  least  bit  coy,  and  a  more  innocent  siren  would  be  hard 
to  discover.  If  the  sage  warnings  given  earlier  in  these 
pages  as  to  weirs  and  locks  be  observed,  and  never  more 
than  one  person  at  a  time  stands  upright  in  the  boat,  the 
row  from  Oxford  to  London  is  as  free  from  danger  as  a 
walk  from  Charing  Cross  to  the  Bank.  And  now  to 
business. 


BOATS. 


MUCH  need  not  be  said  on  this  head.  Most  watermen 
will  see  that  you  are  at  least  safely  boated;  and 
you  are  not  likely,  unless  you  are  anxious  for  it,  to 
be  planted  in  a  racing-shell  which  takes  months  of  practice 
to  sit.  One  word  of  advice  may  be  given.  Those  who  know 
a  little,  but  not  enough,  about  pleasure-boating,  are  often 
fascinated  by  what  is  known  as  a  half-ou trigged  boat.  For 
real  comfort,  however,  they  are  to  be  sneezed  at ;  the  broad- 
beamed  inrigged  boat  is  everything.  The  more  saucer-like 
the  better.  As  regards  oars  or  sculls,  use  sculls  by  all 
means,  if  you  can.     In  a  broad-beamed  boat  there  is  no 


Ho  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

doubt  you  will  make  better  way  with  them,  and  find  them 
less  fatiguing.  The  advantage  of  oars  is  that  half-an- 
hour's  practice  (in  a  safe  "  tub,"  as  comfortable  boats  are 
often  called)  will  enable  any  reasonably  athletic  man  to  jog 
along  with  enjoyment  for  half  a  day. 

In  most  parties  there  will  probably  be  at  least  one  who 
can  manage  sculls  ;  and  for  a  party  the  boat  is  a  randan, 
propelled  by  both  oars  and  sculls,  with  a  stern  more  or  less 
roomy  to  suit  your  numbers.  The  sculler  sits  on  the  centre 
thwart,  bow  and  stroke  use  oars,  and  the  three  of  them  can 
easily  row  down  stream  seven  passengers,  or  even  more. 

Towing  cannot  be  recommended,  unless  there  is  one  of 
the  party  who  understands  it,  or  unless  you  set  about  it 
very,  gingerly.  Towing  appears  to  one  at  first  sight  as 
simple  an  operation  as  driving  a  perambulator.  But  a  first 
attempt  may  be  dangerous,  and  is  certainly  as  ridiculous  as 
a  first  essay  at  punting.  A  boat,  when  being  towed,  should 
not  be  allowed  to  get  far  out  in  the  stream  ;  keep  her  nose 
only  slightly  away  from  the  bank  you  are  skirting.  Towers 
may  be  recommended  not  to  gambol  at  the  end  of  the  line, 
and  not  to  upset  fishermen.  The  Thames  angler  is  a 
patient  creature,  and  deserves  to  be  kindly  treated. 

Punting  is  out  of  the  question  for  a  long  journey,  and 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


141 


requires  not  only  a  good  deal  of  practice,  but  also  local 
knowledge  of  currents  and  the  river  bottom.  Once,  how- 
ever, you  can  keep  a  punt  straight,  and  know  your  ground, 
there  is  nothing  like  it  for  sheer  luxury.  As  a  rule,  in  a 
punt  two  are  company  and  three  are  none. 


For  a  final  word,  you  may  be  recommended  before 
stepping  into  your  boat  to  assure  yourself,  however  respect- 
able your  boatman,  that  the  most  handy  instrument  for 
dealing  with  locks — viz.,  a  compound  boat-hook  and  paddle 
— has  not  been  omitted,  and  that  you  have  not  been  sup- 


142  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

plied  with  a  cranky  old  pair  ot  sculls,  worn  through  at  the 
leather  and  worn  away  at  the  button.  Such  things  do 
happen. 

Boating  is,  on  the  whole,  an  inexpensive  amusement. 
You  should  get  a  boat  almost  anywhere,  for  practically  the 
whole  day,  for  is.  6d.  a  head — unless,  of  course,  you  do 
not  return  to  your  starting-place,  but  leave  the  boat  to  be 
called  for.  The  following  table  gives  in  a  handy  form  the 
prices  charged  for  excursions  down  the  river  from  Oxford.: 

Teddington.       Eton.  Henley.     Extra  Hire. 

£    s.     d.  £    s.    d.  £    s.    d.     Day.  Week. 

Canoe,  Whiff,  Outrigged  Dingey  (for  one  person)     i  10    o  150  100      2/6     10/- 

Dingey,  Sculling  Gig  or  Skiff,  Double  Canoe    ..200  1  15    o  1  10    o  I      ,      J   ,_ 

Pair-oared  Gig,  Canadian  Canoe 2100  250  2    o    o>    ~ 

Randan  Gig,  Thames  Skiff  300  2150  2  10    o  {     -  ,_ 

Four-oared  Gig,  Randan  Skiff 3  10    o  300  2150'" 

Eight-oar . .     5    o    o  4  10    o  4    o    o      7/6    30/- 

Larger  Boats  :— 

Large  Shallop  Four-oar 6005004007/6    30/- 

Large  Four-oared  Gig,  with  side  seats  . .  )  . 

r»        j  ni  c-i     cc  i  4      O      O         3    15      O         3    IO      O   1 

Randan  Pleasure  Skiff S  °°  J             I 

Pair-oared      do.     19ft.  to  20ft.,  with  side  seats    3  10    0  300  2  15  o  I 

Do.            do.     16ft.  toi8ft.,            „                300  2  15    o  2  10  0/ 

Ditto,  fitted  with  tent  cover  and  mattress       . .     3  15    o  3  10    o  3    5  o)    ^        j_ 

Randan,               do.               do.                    . .     5    o    o  4  10    o  4    o  o  I 

These  prices  include  hire  of  boat  for  one  week,  after 
which  extra  hire  is  charged.  It  should  be  added  that 
when  a  boat  is  left  to  be  called  for,  a  fee  of  2s.  6d.  is 
usually  charged  at  the  receiving  boat-yard. 


-    .-  './ 


CAMPING. 

CAMPING  out  on  the  Thames  cannot  be  honestly 
recommended  for  any  one  with  a  greater  sense 
of  responsibility  than  the  average  undergraduate. 
You  may,  of  course,  sleep  under  canvas  without  catching 
cold,  if  you  are  lucky  enough  to  hit  on  a  dry  summer  ;  but 
no  doubt  the  authors  of  this  book  exercised  a  sound  dis- 
cretion when  they  abandoned  their  arrangement  of  hoops 
and  awnings  to  throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  the 
riverside  inn-keepers  —  harpies  less  rapacious,  perhaps, 
except  at  Maidenhead,  than  they  are  described  to  be. 
Still,  for  those  who  are  free  from  that  sobering  sense,  there 
are  few  more  enjoyable  outings  than  a  week  or  ten  days 

9 


144 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


camping  on  the  river.  What  freedom  from  restraint,  when 
every  man  is  for  the  nonce  his  own  cook,  kitchen-maid,  bed- 
maker,  and  valet !  What  opportunities  for  the  study  of 
natural  history  !     The  habits  and  tastes  of  the  water-rat 


and  other  fearful  game  are  no  longer  a  secret  to  you. 
And  the  thing  is  delightfully  easy  to  contrive.  Salter,  of 
Oxford,  and  most  of  the  larger  boatmen  down-river,  will 
supply  you  at  short  notice  with  every  requisite,  down  to  a 
neatly-packed  hamper  of  crockery.      You  may  either  have 


THE  STREAM  OF  n.E.  \SURE.  145 

a  boat  equipped  with  waterproof  awning  (vide  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  Rover,  in  chapter  i.),  or  you  may  take  a  tent. 
The  tent  is  better  fun  on  the  whole. 

As  for  camping-places,  they  are  easily  found,  though  the 
old  days  of  camping  at  one's  own  sweet  will  on  any  private 
lawn  have  gone.  The  simplest  plan  is  to  ask  a  lock-keeper 
where  you  may  pitch  your  tent.  He  will  often  be  found 
to  have  an  eligible  island  at  hand  ;  he  will,  at  any  rate, 
direct  you  to  a  field  where  you  may  take  up  your  quarters. 
A  shilling  a  night  is  often  charged  for  such  accommodation 
— not  very  extortionate  perhaps.  The  lock-keeper,  by- 
the-way,  will  give  you  eggs,  milk,  and  butter  of  a  morning, 
or  tell  you  where  to  get  them. 

The  following  is  a  list  of  camping-places  which  have 
been  actually  used,  though  inquiries  must  still  be  made 
before  pitching,  as  owners  and  lock-keepers  change : — 
Below  Iffley  Lock  ;  at  Rose  Island;  above  Sandford  Lock; 
below  Abingdon  ;  above  Days  Lock  ;  at  Moulsford  (leave 
obtained  from  the  "  Beetle  and  Wedge ")  ;  at  Tilehurst ; 
on  the  island  above  the  bridge  at  Henley ;  above  Spade 
Oak  Ferry,  near  Bourne  End  ;  and  below  the  island  at 
Penton  Hook.  Goring  and  Mapledurham  are,  or  recently 
were,  awkward  places  for  camping  purposes. 


146 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


Things  are  a  little  less  civilized  above  than  below 
Oxford  ;  but  if  a  party  has  energy  to  go  camping  at  all, 
they  will  probably  have  a  more  entertaining  time — certainly 
a  more  exciting  one — between  Lechlade  and  Oxford  than 
between  Oxford  and  Teddington.  It  may  be  added,  in 
case  the  tent  should  be  found  to  leak,  that  there  are  one 
or  two  snug  inns  above  Oxford  absurdly  reasonable  in 
their  charges. 


EXCURSIONS. 

WERE  it  not  for  the  attractions  of  Richmond  there 
would  be  comparatively  little  pleasure-boating 
below  Teddington  Lock.  The  tide  introduces 
an  unpleasant  element  in  the  difficulties  of  watermanship, 
and  the  banks  of  mud  and  gravel  at  low  water  offend  both 
eyes  and  nose.  And  yet  it  is  not  so  long  ago  that  a  person 
thought  it  natural  enough  to  step  into  a  boat  at  Chelsea 
for  an  afternoon  or  evening  paddle.  If  the  proposed  lock 
below  Richmond  be  ever  built,  the  crowd  of  boats  between 
Richmond  and  Teddington  will  throw  Molesey  and  Maiden- 
head deep  into  the  shade. 


148  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

Of  the  river  above  locks,  and  within  easy  reach  of  a 
day  from  London,  there  may  be  said  to  be  three  zones — 
the  first,  distinctly  suburban,  extending  from  Teddington 
through  Kingston,  Hampton,  and  Chertsey  to  Staines; 
the  second,  from  Staines  through  Windsor,  Maidenhead, 
Mario w,  and  Henley  to  Sonning  ;  and  the  third,  from 
Sonning  to  Streatley.  The  favourite  beverage  among 
excursionists  in  the  first  zone  appears  to  be  bottled  beer  ; 
in  the  second,  particularly  above  and  below  Maidenhead, 
champagne  bottles  may  be  observed  floating  in  the  stream  ; 
in  the  third,  honest  stone  jars  of  cider  or  shandygaff  are 
felt  to  be  more  in  accord  with  the  landscape. 

On  Saturday  and  Sunday  afternoons  the  crowd  is  likely 
to  be  terrific  in  the  first  zone.  Unless,  therefore,  the 
crowd  itself  be  the  object  of  your  curiosity,  you  are  not 
recommended  to  select  this  zone  for  your  operations. 
The  fun  at  Molesey  Lock,  a  scene  possibly  busier,  and 
certainly  noisier,  than  Boulter's,  may  be  observed  with 
greater  comfort  from  the  towing-path  than  from  the  river. 
That  these  suburban  reaches  should  be  crowded  is  natural 
enough,  but  the  reasons  why  the  third  zone  is  select  as 
compared  with  the  second  are  three  :  First,  whereas  the 
second  zone  is  served  both  by  the   Great  Western  from 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  149 

Paddington  and  by  the  South-Western  from  Waterloo, 
the  third  zone  can  only  be  reached  by  the  Great  Western. 
Secoitd%  the  railway  journey  in  the  latter  case  takes  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  minutes  longer.  Third,  the  Great 
Western  gives  you  cheap  excursion  tickets  to  Windsor, 
Maidenhead,  Cookham,  Marlow,  and  Henley,  but  no 
further.  So  powerful  are  these  reasons,  that  but  for  the 
existence  of  Reading  Streatley,  Pangbourne,  and  Maple- 
durham  would  be  as  free  from  day-trippers  as  Walling- 
ford.  And  yet  the  train  service  between  Paddington  and 
Reading  is  excellent,  and  between  Paddington  and  Goring 
very  fair. 

Here  let  intending  visitors  be  recommended  to  take 
their  lunch  with  them  in  a  hamper  if  they  are  starting 
for  the  whole  day.  Supper  in  some  riverside  inn  at  the 
end  of  a  long  journey  accords  well  with  the  fitness  of 
things,  but  as  for  lunches  at  such  inns — well,  time,  temper, 
and  digestion  are  saved  by  avoiding  them.  The  rooms 
are  often  crammed,  cold  beef  and  mustard  pickles  seem 
to  exhaust  the  bill  of  fare,  and  a  good  salad,  the  vision 
of  all  others  conjured  up  by  the  landscape,  remains  a 
dream.  But  if  you  do  go  picnicking,  sink  or  bury  your 
empty  bottles  and  refuse. 


5° 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


It  may  be  useful  to  give  the  novice  two  actual  instances 
of  excursions  comfortably  to  be  made  within  a  single  day 
from  town. 


.^^mpiWJSaam 


-jH^ 


>**.*       5*- 


• 


MARLOW    TO    WINDSOR. 


PERHAPS  the  best  journey  for  the  purposes  of  mere 
sightseeing  is  that  from  Marlow  to  Windsor.  This 
is  a  good  but  not  severe  day's  work,  and  the  mere 
mention  of  the  places  passed  on  the  itinerary  will  show  its 
interest.  You  catch  an  early  train  at  Paddington  for 
Marlow,  making  sure  of  getting  there  not  later  than  eleven. 
Arrived  at  Marlow,  you  have  a  stroll  of  some  ten  minutes 
to  the  bridge,  above  and  below  which  lies  a  whole  flotilla. 
Once  afloat,  paddle  or  tow  up-stream  for  half  a  mile  or  so 
in  order  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Bisham  Abbey.  Then  turn, 
and  after  passing  the  weir  you  will  see  the  lock  on  your 


154  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

right.  You  have  next  a  glorious  view  of  the  Quarry 
Woods  as  you  swing  past  them,  and,  after  a  stretch  of 
flat  and  somewhat  bare  meadow-land,  you  reach  Bourne 
End,  and  then,  a  mile  further  on,  Cookham.  Here  you 
should  take  a  stroll  through  the  churchyard,  and  then 
make  your  way  down  the  straight  cutting  which  leads  to 
the  lock.  Cookham  Lock  is  one  of  the  gems  of  the 
river.  Not  only  is  it  embowered  in  foliage  of  its  own, 
but  it  has  the  whole  range  of  the  Cliefden  Woods  for  a 
backing.  When  a  Thames  lock  is  set  up  on  the  London 
stage,  the  first  the  scene-painter  selects  is  pretty  sure  to 
be  Cookham.  It  is  impossible  to  see  too  much  of  the 
Cliefden  Woods,  and  so,  when  you  have  got  through 
the  lock,  turn  up  to  your  left  and  visit  the  weir.  Here 
it  may  parenthetically  be  remarked  that  it  is  as  much 
safer  to  visit  a  weir  from  below  than  from  above  as  it  is 
easier  to  fall  in  than  to  get  out  of  the  water.  Don't  run 
into  it,  that  is  all.  However,  when  you  have  got  under 
weigh,  drop  down-stream  for  half  a  mile  or  so,  and  turn 
up  the  back-water  to  the  right.  This  particular  back- 
water is  pretty  enough  in  itself,  but  is  especially  worth  a 
visit  for  the  magnificent  view  it  affords  of  the  Cliefden 
Woods  and  of  the  house  itself,  seen  in  perspective  between 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  155 

two  arching  elms.  It'  you  are  wise,  you  will  have  brought 
your  lunch,  and  will  cat  it  here.  Lunch  over,  you  traverse 
tlu:  graceful  sweep  of  Cliefden  Reach  and  come  to  Boulters 
Lock.  As  you  will  have  read  earlier  in  these  pages,  this 
is  on  Sunday  afternoons  a  remarkable  sight.  From  the 
variety  and  the  quantity  of  its  traffic  it  may  be  called  the 
Piccadilly  Circus  of  the  Upper  Thames.  When  through  the 
lock,  or  over  the  rollers,  it  is  well  here,  as  at  Cookham,  to 
turn  up  to  your  left  and  visit  the  weir — the  back-water 
leading  up  to  it  is  so  good.  Boulter's  Lock,  through 
Maidenhead  to  Bray,  is  the  next  stage.  At  Bray  you 
should  visit  the  Church  and  the  Almshouses,  and  then 
make  your  way  to  the  lock.  A  long  stretch  of  three  miles 
takes  you  past  Monkey  Island  and  Surly  to  Boveney  Lock. 
After  passing  this,  Windsor  Castle  dominates  the  landscape 
as  the  Eiffel  Tower  does  Paris,  and  the  full  view  of  it 
bursting  upon  you  as  you  emerge  from  the  shadow  of  the 
railway-bridge  is  majestic  enough  to  crown  any  day  of 
sight-seeing. 

From  Windsor  you  can  drop  down  to  Romney  Lock, 
following  the  tow-path  where  the  stream  divides,  and, 
without  passing  through  the  lock,  land  for  a  glimpse  of 
Eton  and  the  Playing-fields ;  or  you  may  pass  through  the 


1 56 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 


lock,  turn  up  the  back-water,  and  land  any  of  your  party 
who  care  for  it  to  stroll  through  Eton  to  the  inn  at 
Windsor  where  you  have  elected  to  sup.  The  boat  you 
must  take  back  to  the  boat-yard  where  you  have  arranged 
to  leave  it.  After  supper  you  may  have  time  before  the 
last  train  goes  to  saunter  up  to  the  Castle,  and  to  enjoy  the 
famous  view  from  its  terrace. 


STREATLEY    TO    CAVERSIIAM. 


FOR  interest  of  a  general  kind  the  journey  which  has 
just  been  sketched  is  perhaps  unrivalled,  but  there  is 
another  trip  which  for  pure  beauty  of  river  scenery  far 
surpasses  it.  The  Thames  from  Streatley  to  Tilehurst  is 
one  uninterrupted  stretch  of  loveliness  passing  before  you 
like  a  pageant.  There  are  no  comparative  wastes  such 
as  those  between  Marlow  and  Bourne  End,  between 
Maidenhead  Bridge  and  Bray,  to  break  the  charm.  The 
journey  is  not  a  long  one  ;  indeed,  you  can  start  from 
Streatley,  row  down  to  Tilehurst,  and  get  back  to  Streat- 
ley in  time  for  the  last  train,  or  you  may  go  on  to  Sonning, 


158  THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE. 

or  even  Henley.  Let  us  suppose  that  you  are  content 
with  the  single  journey,  and,  preferring  wisely  to  row  with 
rather  than  against  the  stream,  have,  instead  of  getting 
out  at  Reading,  decided  to  go  on  to  Goring.  A  train 
leaving  Paddington  about  nine  will  bring  you  to  Goring 
before  eleven.  The  walk  from  the  station  at  Goring  to 
the  bridge  which  connects  Goring  with  Streatley  is  a 
pretty  one,  and  the  vision  of  Streatley  on  the  further 
side  will  probably  make  you  reluctant  to  step  at  once 
into  your  boat.  When,  however,  you  do  find  yourself 
comfortably  boated,  you  should  first  of  all  row  up-stream 
as  far  as  Cleeve  Lock,  one  of  the  most  wonderful  half- 
miles  to  be  found  for  river  "  bits."  Then  turn  below 
the  mill  and  make  your  way  back  to  Goring  Lock,  and 
on  past  the  glorious  chalk  hills  of  Streatley  and  the 
beech  woods  above  Coombe  Lodge  to  Pangbourne — a 
stretch  of  four  miles  or  so.  The  lock,  known  as  Whit- 
church Lock,  is  here,  as  often  elsewhere,  the  very  focus 
of  all  that  makes  for  picturesqueness,  and  you  will  pro- 
bably be  tempted  to  rest  on  your  oars  for  some  time,  both 
above  and  below  it,  before  you  tackle  the  two  miles  which 
bring  you  to  Mapledurham.  The  strong  stream  below 
the  lock  carries   you  all  too   swiftly  over  the  short  mile 


THE  STREAM  OF  PLEASURE.  159 

to  Tilehurst  There  you  pass  abruptly  from  enchanted 
ground  into  the  prosy  reach,  redeemed  only  by  long 
tangled  hedges  of  brier-rose,  which  sweeps  past  Reading. 
At  Caversham  Bridge,  about  two  miles  from  "  The  Roe- 
buck" at  Tilehurst,  you  leave  your  boat,  stroll  to  Reading 
Station,  and  so  back  to  town.  The  day's  work  is,  as  has 
been  said,  a  short  one,  but  such  a  scene  as  the  Thames 
between  Cleeve  Lock  and  Tilehurst  is  not  to  be  hurried 
through.  If  you  take  the  journey  at  all,  take  it  in  sips, 
not  at  a  gulp. 


STEAMERS. 

IN  conclusion,  but 
tell  it  only  in 
Gath,  the  river 
can  be  seen  from  the 
decks  of  a  couple  of 
steamboats  plying  be- 
tween Kingston  and 
Oxford  thrice  a  week  ! 


\_Unwin  Brothers,  Printers,  Chilwotth  and  London. 


\t    f\ 


V&  29041 


RETURN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO—*-     202  Main  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

S0*€-£fr9  (Slfr)  -nvr» 
1JV3A-1  ONV  'SHlNOW-f  w  »•  ■*»  " 
*31VO  300  Oi  WOlBd  SAVa  fr  SOVK  3C 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


v%*V  J 


^  .>»Tk.f^. 


«ftl 


if  >/*■ 


% 


r£rd7**r 


&^i> 


Wk 


CD5M32tm2 


>»-* 


Hb* 


^Wlrs 


/ 


v 


£i  *aw 


&J 


■5*  ^ 


9M»~ 


oe/- 


£%i 


4 


